The Real Aftermath
by Alternative96
Summary: After TDA, Gwen goes back home to her native Philadelphia, and Duncan goes back home to Camden. Follow them as they struggle to maintain their relationship. A sequel to "Bracelets".
1. Coming Home

**A/N: Ahhhh! The sequel :O **

**For new readers, here's the link to the first installment. It's long, so…beware.**

**.net/s/5345588/1/Bracelets**

**And here we go! :]**

"And so?" my mom asked. "How was the show for you?"

I could hardly pay attention with my brother's phone beeping, from his violent texting.

"Torture," I nodded honestly. "With some sweet spots."

"Did you meet anyone?"

"Not really." That was my usual answer after going out. Usually because I never really met anyone.

"Liar."

"Excuse me?"

"I watched you on television, Gwen. You can't lie, no matter how much you want to."

"Duncan Lover." My brother interrupted. I punched him in the arm, followed by a, "Shut up, you ass!"

He punched me back. Soon, it got into a mini-catfight until my mom snapped, "Stop it!"

I immediately stopped. I was the good – er, _better_ – child of the family. Mostly because my brother was a wannabe bad-boy _douchenozzle_.

He didn't go without a final hit to my arm. I turned towards him and growled, "Fuck off."

My mother rolled her eyes and said, "Can we please get home as quick as we can? I mean, Peter is waiting for me, you two."

Peter? Who the fuck was Peter? I didn't have any family members named Peter, and my mom had _no_ social life whatsoever (sorry, Mom). I looked at her, confused. "Peter who?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed. She was suddenly _really_ bubbly, extremely cheery. She calmed down, and said, "You may take it as a shock, but in the time where you were gone, I met a fine man named Peter Winslow at the hospital (my mom works at the cafeteria at Jefferson's Hospital). He was in the hospital for breaking one of his ribs and his arm by falling out of his window."

"Oh my God!" I exclaimed. "How the hell did he fall out of his window?"

"He was cleaning his sister's window. His sister owns a nearby row home. You may know his niece – I think she goes to your school. Well, anyway, a bird flew into the glass. It was apparently a feathery mess, so he stood on a ladder and cleaned it that way. It fell over, broke a rib and his arm. Well…he was ordering a salad and he said I was cute, and I giggled, and he asked me out on a date, and…"

Oh. Shit. "I have a stepdad?!"

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no! Although I'm all for my mom's happiness, what if this guy's a _dick_? What if he's a shallow ass?

"No," she reassured me, turning for a moment, and then immediately turning back to the road ahead of her. "Well, at least, not yet."

"You're engaged?"

"No."

"Thinking about it?"

"Not really."

"I see."

"Okay, then."

The rest of the ride was quiet, until thirty minutes later, she asked, "So, do you really like that Duncan kid?"

I nodded. "Of course I do."

"Okay." She nodded.

"Do you _love _him?" My brother asked mockingly. I glared at him.

Despite his dick attitude, I replied truthfully, "Yeah. I think I do."

"Really?" my mom asked, surprised. "Haven't you two just found each other? Isn't that all going a bit fast?"

I shook my head. "The cameras don't capture everything. If you're really elusive, you can avoid them."

My mom nodded and turned towards the road. "Okay."

The _rest_ of the car ride from that point was dead silence. There wasn't much to talk about, rather than the stuff they'd seen on television.

A few hours later, we arrived in Philadelphia. I saw my house – it was a row home, near the Interstate. It was also within walking distance of the Target, the supermarket, and the high school. I got my bags out, and ran upstairs to unpack.

Once I was settled, I immediately called Duncan. He picked up. "'Ello?"

"I'm back in Philly. How about you?" I asked.

"Just landed."

"That's good."

"Guess so."

"…you know something? It sounds pretty fucking weird, but I actually can't wait to get back to school. You know, get back in the usual habit of things, rather than staying in Canada…"

"Whoa there, Gwen._ Whoa_. You can miss something, but not miss something so much, you beg for classes to come back."

I laughed. "Oh, whatever…"

At that point, I heard the door open and a new voice was heard. It was some guy's voice. He asked, "You're back already?"

"Yeah, hon. We got back here about ten minutes ago." I heard my mom answer.

I turned back to my phone. "Oh, yeah. Guess what?"

"What?" Duncan asked.

"My mom's dating again."

"Really? While you were gone?"

"I know, right? I'm not sure if I want someone in the household. I mean, after sixteen years, you get adjusted to a certain way of life. She could've waited until I got back home. It's still somewhat of a shock to me."

"That's fucked up."

"I know!"

I then heard my mom call, "Gwen! Come down here for a minute?"

I sighed and turned back towards my phone. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Sure," he nodded.

"Love you."

"Love you, too."

I walked downstairs, awaiting to see my mother's new flame.

I came downstairs, and saw him sitting at the kitchen table. He sorta looked like George Clooney – you know, the guy every old lady falls in love with.

My mother giggled and said, "Gwen, this is Peter. Peter, this is my daughter, Gwen."

He stood up and extended his hand. "Hi, Gwen."

I shook his hand. "Hello."

My mom insisted on trying to get us to know each other. Better sooner than later.

He asked about my taste in music. I told him I liked Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Escape the Fate, and The Beatles.

He kept talking about how he knew the Beatles' work and shit. It's like, honestly, how can you not know about the Beatles in the first place?

So, I guess that's what he's going to form this whole shindig from. Great.


	2. Meeting Peter

**A/N: LOL. If you type O_o in word in Arial font, the red squiggly line will look like a mustache! :D**

I sat on the couch, watching _Full House_ (what else is on during daytime TV?) while Peter said, "Damn it…I've got to get back to the office."

"What's your article about?" my mom asked.

That caught my attention. I sat up and asked, "Wait. What's your job?"

"I'm a journalist at the _Inquirer_."

Oh my stars! The _Philadelphia Inquirer_, one of the best newspapers in the whole motherfucking nation!

"That's cool," I nodded, and sat back down. I've always wanted to do something with either drawing or writing. My dream job was to be a novelist, maybe even try to design my own cover. My backup plan was cover designer, and my back-backup plan was to be a journalist.

This was pretty good. I thought Peter was going to be some boring office-dweller, doing nothing I find even _remotely_ interesting. Besides, if I didn't achieve my dream of being a novelist _or_ a cover designer, maybe when I'm job-hunting…Peter can squeeze me in at the _Inquirer_!

I mean, they always say that you need connections to get into a job. Hopefully a news-printing company was the same way.

I then got a text message on my phone: "_I'm in NJ. My house RANDOMLY smells like oranges O_o And I read your texts from before. I lol'd. –Duncan_"

Grr. I told him not to.

I turned the TV off and went downstairs to the basement. Our basement isn't for storage – my _old _dad (the dick one) converted it into somewhat of a game area years and years back. Even though my brother was down there playing Nintendo, I sat on the floor, leaned against the computer desk – yeah, the family computer was down here, too – and dialed Duncan's number. Alex was too wrapped up in his game to care, anyway.

"Hello?" he asked. I heard some loud rock song play in the background. I think it was "_Tales of a Scorched Earth_".

"Hey, Duncan." I said. "So, I met my mom's boyfriend."

"Is he a dick?"

"No, not really."

"That's good."

In the distance, I heard some girl – about 14, it was probably his sister Amber – call, "Can you turn that stupid song _off_?"

"…hold on," Duncan asked me.

"Okay," I responded.

The sound was muffled (he probably put his hand over the phone), but he called, "Make me!"

After a moment, she called back, "You asshole! You locked the freaking door!"

"Exactly."

The song got a bit louder, and Duncan turned back to the phone. "Back."

"Alright then."

"So, what are we going to do on Saturday?" he asked.

I checked the date. It was Tuesday. So…five days away.

"I can see you any day _before_ Saturday."

"Oh, right…it's summer."

"No! Really?" I asked sarcastically. After that, there was a pause.

"_Any_way…how about tonight?"

Oh. That was soon. "Cool. Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere _not_ fancy. And delicious. I call Nifty Fifties."

Nifty Fifties was a 50's themed restaurant in Philadelphia. It's the best in the area, actually. They have the "world's largest soda fountain" – it had Pineapple soda, Chocolate soda…even Toasted Marshmallow.

"Did you go there before?" he asked.

"A few times. It's mostly like, burgers and hot dogs and malts."

"Oh, my."

"No, but seriously. Wanna go?"

"Of course. Pick you up at say…five-thirty tonight?"

"Sounds cool. You know where it is?"

"I'll _borrow_ my dad's GPS."

"You mean _steal_?" I corrected. There was, of course, another short pause.

"…Yeah." He nodded.

"I knew it."

"I'll see you later then?"

"Definitely."

"Wait, where do you live?"

I gave him my address and bid him goodbye, "Okay, love you."

"Love you too."

I hung up the phone. I then heard Alex ask, "Aw. Someone's got a date tonight."

Angrily, I stood up, slammed my phone onto the desk, and pressed my fingers into his neck.

He hissed, "Ow, ow, ow, ow!!! Stop it!"

I let go, and walked upstairs.

I saw my mom and said, "Mom, I'm going out at five thirty."

"Really? With who?" she asked.

"Duncan." I answered.

"Wait. Where's he from?"

"Camden."

"Oh, that's pretty close."

"Yeah."

"Where are you two going?"

"Nifty-Fifties."

"Oh, okay."

And that's when I started waiting for 5:30 to roll around.

I was in my room when I looked out the window. Duncan was outside of my house, on his way up. I grinned, and looked at myself in the mirror. I wore a black "Zero" shirt with red lettering, red skinny jeans, and black High-Tops.

I grabbed my Tokidoki purse, and rushed out the door calling, "Bye, Mom!"

"Okay, have fun," she yelled after me as I locked the door.

I saw him and said, "Hey!"

"Hey, ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah, totally."

I got in the car and sat in the passenger seat. I didn't recognize the song on the radio. CD cases scattered the floor and overflowed out of the glove compartment. There was also an empty McDonalds' cup on the little surface underneath the windshield (I didn't know the correct name for it).

"Yeah, I know, my car's a shithouse." He said beforehand.

"It's okay," I said, and we drove off towards the restaurant.


	3. Dinner with Duncan

Nifty Fifties was surprisingly empty tonight.

We were seated in this extremely clean booth – yeah, business has clearly been sucking lately – and opened the menus.

"What do you usually get here?" he asked.

"A chocolate/marshmallow combo soda, a burger, and fries." I said.

He immediately asked, "Chocolate/Marshmallow _soda_? Is it good?"

I flipped his menu to the page that read, "_Soda Fountain: Feel Free to Mix and Match!_"

The whole page was just soda flavorings. "Holy shit!"

"Yeah, I know."

He read over the menu. "Yeah, I might just get pineapple and coconut."

"You can get the regular Pina Colada flavor for less money."

"Oh. Right."

We just sat around and talked about the show, how we could possibly maintain a relationship like this, et cetera, until the waitress came up. She looked uninterested in her job, as if she had somewhere better to go.

She talked like this: "Walcome to Nifta Fiftays, how may I halp you?"

I ordered my usual, and Duncan ordered his Pina Colada soda and a cheese steak. I honestly never tried one.

After the waitress left, I asked, "Are cheese steaks good?"

"I never came here before." I said.

"No, I mean cheese steaks in general."

He stared. "You never tried one before?"

"No."

"You are the _only_ person in the tri-state area who never tried a cheese steak before…no offense."

"None taken. I dunno, I've just never gotten around to trying one."

"You can have some of mine. They're usually massive."

"Oh, okay. Cool."

The waitress came with the drinks. I took a sip of my drink. It tasted like a s'more. Duncan took a sip of his and looked at the drink.

"God," he said, "I never knew this was possible."

"Well, it is. And it's fucking delicious."

He grinned and we started talking about where to go next Saturday. "Um…how about Saturday?"

"Oh, I don't know," I shrugged.

Duncan bit his lip, and suddenly his eyes widened. "Have I ever told you about the shore house?"

"No, you haven't." I replied. I was honestly excited at where this may be going.

"Well, it's in Wildwood Crest. Maybe we could go down there."

"My mom would go ape shit."

"Tell her you're going to dinner and a movie. That's like, four hours."

"I guess that'd work."

We talked more about it until the food came out. Duncan immediately ripped a piece of the hoagie thing off. It was oily. Very, very oily.

I took a bite. It was mostly ground meat, and there was also lots of cheese. I nodded in acceptance. "It's good."

"I know, right?"

After the dinner, we left. The sun was set. Duncan parked the car in front of my house when I said, "Thanks for tonight. It was nice."

"Yeah," he nodded. I turned towards him and simply kissed him. He pulled me in for another, then another, and another, and another.

I shut off the light in the cars, locked the doors, and dragged him towards the backseat.

Soon enough, we wanted sex. He even had a thin blanket under the driver's seat. (I didn't want to know why. But, fuck it, it was convienent.)

I asked, "Do you have a condom on you?"

"Uhh…check the glove compartment." He said.

I grabbed the blanket, covered myself with it (in case some perv would happen to look in). I opened the compartment, moved some CD's out of the way, and found a strand of them. I ripped one off, and gave it to him.

Soon enough, we had car sex. _Fucking car sex_. It was more comfortable than the washers, yet less comfortable than the classic bed.

Oh, no. I hope it didn't appear as it did in the movies – it always seemed kinky, and the car usually jerked around _ridiculously_.

Oh, _God_. If that happened, my mom would definitely see it. And she would _flip her shit_. You see, my mom is a huge advocator for abstinence. If she knew one of her kids was fucking _before_ marriage, she'd lose all composure. She'd probably ban me from going outside ever again if she found out.

Afterwards, I redid my hair, kissed him again, and left the car. I went inside my house when my mom asked, "Why did you spend so much time parked in the car?"

I bit my lip and made up quite a ridiculous excuse. "I lost my earring. We were looking all over the car."

"Oh," she nodded, and went back to her television show.

After a moment, she said, "Gwen, what about your hair? The streaks are going to wear out soon."

Right. My streaks only last for two weeks until I have to redo them. I did this religiously every two weeks throughout the show. But I didn't want teal streaks anymore. It was a pain in the ass to match my hair with clothes – I mean, teal was such an irregular color.

"Do you want to keep the streaks, or…?"

"I'm going to try plain old black." I told her.

"Really? Why not try…purple?"

"I already _had_ purple. I just want to see how black looks."

She nodded. "Okay…"

Then I asked, "Hey, where can I get a good straightener?"

That took my mother by surprise. "You never straighten your hair. Why the sudden change?"

"I straightened my hair this summer. Didn't you see it?"

She thought for a moment, until replying, "Oh! Yeah, yeah! It looked pretty."

"Exactly."

"Sure. There's a posh little store that sells good ones. I'll get you one there next time I go there."

"When would that be?"

"Next week. It's your aunt's birthday; I'm getting her perfume there."

"Oh." I nodded. "That'll work out."

I then went downstairs to go online and check email. I got one hundred in my inbox. Yikes. They were mostly messages from friends and all saying, "Good luck" and stuff.

At that point, my phone rang. I opened it and asked, "Hello?"

"Gwennifer!" Marilyn exclaimed. "I haven't seen you in forever. Why don't we all hang out tomorrow?"

"The four of us?" I asked.

"Uh, hell _yes_, just the four of us!"

"Okay, that sounds fun!"

"…Ooh! Invite Duncan over!"

"But we just went out today, and we're going out again on Saturday."

"Pfft. Okay then. How about we watch a movie in the basement?"

In the olden days (oh, dear. I sound so elderly…like my grandmother), we always used to watch a movie in Marilyn's basement. It was dark – you couldn't see a foot in front of your nose – so whenever you watched a horror movie, you didn't know if Michael Meyers was behind the couch or what.

It was awesome. But once we all stopped doing absolutely _everything_ together, found other friends (yet we always stayed faithful to the clique), and we started scrapping our usual traditions, movie nights were retired.

"Cool!" I smiled. "What movie?"

"Your favorite, of course!"

"_Sweeney Todd_?!"

"What else? Wait…I'll even make some fake blood!"

"You mean Shirley Temples?"

"Whatever."

"Well, anyway, that sounds great! What time?"

"Ten o'clock, my place."

"Okay, see you there."

"Buh-bye."

I hung up, and anticipated tomorrow evening.


	4. Movie Night

**A/N: First things first: I changed my screenname. I know, it's confusing, but I felt my old one was too long and I disliked it. :[ ANYWAY, I also added a poll to my profile about this fanfiction. Check it out. ;D**

Ah, I couldn't wait until _Sweeney Todd_ night. I wore one of my favorite shirts – a white shirt with fake blood around the collar, like someone just slit your throat and left it to bleed (hint, hint). I also wore black skinny jeans with bleach stains. For shoes, I wore red-and-black plaid Converse.

I decided to bring food, so I walked to Target and picked up chocolate-covered raisins for movie candy.

I dropped the candy back at my house and put it in my purse. For the remaining time, I listened to music and watched television.

Duncan called me about four in the afternoon.

"Hey," he said.

"Hola," I greeted him. "Hey, hon."

"So try cutting it short? Gotcha."

"Yeah…so what's up?"

"Apparently my brothers are coming over to congratulate me on the million."

"Tom and George?"

"Yeah."

"Uh…Tom's the one you don't like, right?"

"He's sort of a rich dick."

"Oh. That sounds like Alex, but he's not rich."

"Ha, ha."

After some talking, Duncan sighed, "Oh. I have to go. See you later, alright, babe?"

"Right. See ya."

I hung up the phone, and went back to the television.

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++

"He's sort of a rich dick." I told Gwen, via phone.

"Oh. That sounds like Alex, but he's not rich." Gwen commented. I honestly wasn't really paying attention. I was watching _The Office_ via On Demand (God bless Gwen for recommending it), paying lots of attention towards it.

"Ha. Ha." I said, clearly not interested.

After a moment, I heard this _Cage the Elephant_ song play outside. I got up, and looked through the window while Amber exclaimed, "Who the hell is playing their radio so loud?"

I ended my conversation with Gwen, and then I looked out the window. Tom was coming up the driveway. He had this short (dick) haircut, with these huge, (dick) aviator glasses. His wife was in the car, too – she had a short, smart, chocolate brown haircut. She also wore glasses, and today she wore an Eagles jersey and Capri pants. Her name was Angela…Angelina…Annie…something like that.

The song stopped, and he got out of his car, slamming the door and walking up towards the house. Angela/Angelina/Annie (I'll call her Ann from now on) followed. I unlocked the door and went back towards the television.

The couple walked in the door and Tom immediately called, "Duncan! Where are you?"

"In here," I replied, still paying attention to the television.

He walked in, and held out his hand for some sort of high-five. I awkwardly gave him one when he said, "Congrats, dude. I never thought you'd actually win."

"Thanks. You're a supportive brother." I rolled my eyes.

Ann sat down on the couch, while I sat in the armchair. I leaned on one arm, my legs hung over the other. She turned to me and asked, "So? How was the show?"

"Stupid," I rolled my eyes. "Worthless time spent."

"Really? What about your girlfriend?"

"Some time was spent well."

She grinned, and Tom came back in with a plate of nachos and a blob of salsa on the side. "Where's Mom and Dad?"

"On patrol or whatever," I answered, still glancing at the television.

The door opened, and George hopped in. "Duddde. You won!"

I heard Amber's voice exclaim, "GEOOOORRRGGGEEE!!"

She ran down and hugged George. For some reason, Amber really liked George. Even when she was a kid, she had some inexplicable interest in George. George was somewhat of a hipster – he had long, sleek brown hair, and he wore a plaid skirt, skinny jeans, and Converse. His new girlfriend was here, too – they're never long-lived. She was blonde, very pink. Her tan was ridiculously _fake_.

"Hey, George." I acknowledged him, still looking at the T.V.

"What are you going to do with the money?"

"Save it, I guess."

"That sounds old. What are you saving _for_?"

"…nothing."

His girlfriend then asked, "Did you win the money form the friendly little groundhog on T.V.?"

George sighed and patted her back. "No, Paula. That would be TDA."

She gasped. "Oh my God! My little sissy was on that show!"

That caught my attention. "Your sister?"

She nodded. I asked, "Who?"

"Lindsay Hirnlos is my sister."

I stared. Oh, no. If anything _serious_ went on between my brother and Paula…oh, shit…Lindsay would be my _sister_.

Oh…fuck.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

It was nine-thirty in the afternoon. I was excited to go see the movie, until Duncan called.

"Gwen! Oh, shit, babe, I'm freaking out." He explained.

"Why? What happened?" I asked.

"George is dating Lindsay's sister."

"Oh, that _sucks_! Is it possible that he really loves her?"

"Uh…probably not."

"Oh, good."

I got an incoming call. "Hey, I got to go. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Sure."

"Ciao."

I took the other call. "Hello?"

"Gwen?" Pixie asked.

"Oh, Pixie! Hi! What's up?"

"What movie are we watching tonight?"

"_Sweeney_."

"Ten, right?"

"Yeah. I'm going to start walking now."

"Oh, okay. See ya."

"See ya."

I hung up.

I grabbed the candy and ran outside towards Marilyn's house. We lived near each other, so it was convenient. I rushed inside from the humid, summer night and into the underappreciated joy of air conditioning.

I heard Marilyn call, "In the basement!"

I rushed downstairs. Reaper and Marilyn were down there, setting up the DVD player.

"Is Pixie here yet?" I asked, throwing the candy onto the coffee table.

Marilyn, twisting her purple hair around her forefinger, answered, "No, she's not. She's coming soon, though."

Soon, we were all waiting for Pixie Corpse to arrive. Soon, Pixie rushed down the stairs, pulling her electric blue hair out of her face. "Sorry I'm late, you guys…my car wouldn't start up."

"Your car sucks," Reaper said.

"At least I have a car."

"Whatever."

We started up the movie. We laughed whenever someone got their throat slit – we saw the movie too many times to be scared.

However, the scene where Mrs. Lovett gets burnt in an oven still gives me the chills. I mean, she's just thrashing about, burning to death…ugh, it still terrifies me.

However, during the movie, Pixie Corpse asked, "So? How's Duncan?"

"Charming," I told her.

"What does he like?"

"Rock music, sex, stupid SNL songs, mischief, and everything else you expect."

"Okay."

"He's still hot."

I stared. "Easy there, Tiger!"

"Just telling you the truth."

I rolled my eyes and ate another chocolate-covered raisin.

When the movie ended, I simply bid my farewells and left. I was somewhat pissed off due to Pixie Corpse's comments on my boyfriend. I mean, Pixie Corpse would never do this, but – what if she mulled over stealing my boyfriend?

No. No, she'd never do that.

I fell asleep, and once I woke up, Duncan called me.


	5. The Mall

**A/N: "I distrust a man with curly hair. Only God knows what demons are nesting in that mess." –Jane Lynch as **_**Sue Sylvester**_

It was like, seven in the morning when my phone started buzzing. I checked the Picture ID. It had a picture of Duncan (that picture was also my internal wallpaper. Cute, right?) on the screen. Honestly, what does he have to tell me _now_ that can't wait until another time? Like ten? Nevertheless, I picked up. I mean, what if George proposed to Queen Bimbo or something?

Terrifying.

"Hey, Gwen?" he asked.

I yawned, and wiped the drool from my mouth. "Mm-hm?"

"You like _Harry Potter_, right?"

This is what he called for? Are you serious? "Yeah, why?"

"The new movie came out while we were in Canada. Want to go see it at three?"

Oh. That sounded nice. "That sounds great. What theater?"

"The IMAX one. At the Franklin Mills Mall."

"Whoa! That sounds awesome! I'll go!"

I hung up, and fell back asleep. However, I couldn't. I decided to look out the window. It was odd, but usually looking out the window bores me to sleep. I mean, my window doesn't even face the street, or the sky. You had to look directly up to see that. It faces the sliver of grass between my home and the neighbor's (the twelve-year-old girl who my mother hired to be my replacement. Yeah, my mom's a piece of work), and their siding. And by siding, I mean their brick house.

It made me feel so ghetto. My creative side pressured me to actually buy some window markers – I could draw scenery better than Philadelphia. At first, it was just some grass and a poorly-drawn sky.

Now, it's evolved into awesome, hard-to-draw album covers. I see them as a challenge. Right now, _This War is Ours_ coated my window. Even though it was vocalized by Craig Mabbitt, I liked the complexity of it. It took hours to draw, but I accomplished it. It looked absolutely _awesome_.

And believe me, I was never washing it off of the glass now. That would be so much work, just put to waste.

I looked at the picture. I noticed that one of the snakes was smudged. I touched it up, and fell back asleep.

I woke up at nine and looked at my closet. God, what can I wear to this movie?

I called Michelle. First of all, I haven't really talked to her. I dialed her number and said, "You've been out with lots of guys before, right?"

"No shit, Gwen. Why'd you ask?" she said back.

"I'm going to a movie with Duncan. What should I wear?"

"Wear tight clothes and a bra that's easy to snap. Duh."

I stood there. "I'm not planning on fucking him, Michelle."

"Then what do you _plan_ on doing?!"

I rolled my eyes. "Love isn't just about the sex…whore."

"Whoa, there. _Whoa, there_. No need for names, Miss Sassypants."

I never called her a whore before. She was usually self-conscious about it when you were dead serious. But, when you were joking, she always agreed. "Well, I really, really like him. Not everything is built off of sex for us, okay?"

"Then I really can't help you."

She hung up. Even though the line was dead, I shouted, "WHORE!" into my phone and slammed it on the Parsons table next to my bed.

I looked at my hair. Wow, it really was time to get rid of these streaks. They were fading. And they looked ugly.

I would have enough time to dye it totally black. I hope. I checked my hair dye supply (very low), and looked at my hair. It wasn't as black as I wanted it. I needed more black dye. _Shit_.

I ran as fast as I could to Target, swiftly avoiding cars and buses. I rushed through the parking lot, grabbed the darkest black I could find, and ran straight back out.

As soon as I got home, I dedicated a couple of hours to dying my hair. I fixed it up, dried it, and admired it in the mirror.

Ooh. It looked even darker and Goth-er than the streaks.

For my outfit, I grabbed a purple shirt with a wilted, black rose printed on it. To go with that, I wore black skinny jeans. I matched _that_ with black Converse with a layer of purple underneath. It's like wearing two pairs of shoes at the same time, only…you're not.

I really liked these shoes.

I also had a matching jewelry set to go with that – black rose earrings and a black rose bracelet. I looked great.

I waited around for Duncan to come pick me up. God, this was going to be _fucking awesome_.

I stared out the window for Duncan to arrive. Soon enough, he did. I climbed in the car, and he immediately noticed my new hair color.

"You dyed your hair," he pointed out.

"Yeah, it's a darker shade of black, and I decided to eliminate the teal streaks altogether."

"Looks good."

"Thank you."

Soon we drove off to the mall. It was crowded today. Well, whenever summer rolled in, it was like the malls were eternally packed. Then when school started, they were abandoned completely until Saturday.

When we walked in, I immediately spotted the store my mom said sells those straighteners. It looked like a good store.

"Uh, I'm going to go in the cosmetics store. Do you want to buy the tickets while I'm gone?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Sure."

"Thanks," I said, and walked off to the store.

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++

I put off buying the tickets until later. I sat down on a bench, and started contacting people on my phone.

Soon, I heard this guitar randomly tuning. I turned to my right. Some girl with this really bright, unnatural white hair was tuning this black acoustic-electric guitar. She set out an upside down _Philadelphia Soul_ hat (a now dead team, by the way) to collect tips.

Her hair had a black bow in it. She wore a black T-Shirt. It really showed up well on her snow-white skin and snow-white hair. She also wore white skinny jeans, with random black lines of different thicknesses going across, in a grid-like form. It almost looked like a price code. Her eye makeup was extremely dark, almost raccoon-like.

She sat near a raised flower pot – concrete, about three feet high or so – and exhaled, clearly nervous.

She started plucking the guitar. After a minute into the song – by Paramore, I presume – tips fell into the hat. She was good. And pretty.

I dug five dollars out of my pocket and dropped the dollar into her hat near the end of the song. I glanced over at the store. Gwen was still looking over prices.

Goddammit. I hope she doesn't make us miss the movie.

"Thank you!" the girl said. Surprisingly…she spoke in a British accent.

I nodded. "No problem. You're really good."

"Thank you." She then tilted her head a smidge, and asked, "Do I know you from somewhere? You look oddly familiar."

"Uh, yeah. I was on some reality show."

She grinned. "Oh, yeah! You won, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"That's amazing."

"Thanks."

"I'm Isabelle. And you're Duncan, I remember." She laughed.

I nodded. After a pause, she said defensively, "And I'm not homeless! Ha, ha."

I laughed. "I could tell from your dyed hair and guitar."

"Yeah, I just moved here from England, and I just want some extra money." She explained.

Interesting life. I glanced over at the store. Gwen was in the checkout line. To excuse myself, I glanced at my watch and muttered, "Crap. My movie starts soon."

"Oh, okay." She nodded, and asked, "Do you have a cell phone?"

"Yeah."

"What's your number?"

I recited my number as she punched it in. "Mind if I text later?"

"Not at all."

"Okay! See you later."

I nodded, and waved after her, and bought the tickets. I couldn't help but listen to the song she strummed after I left.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

I rushed out the door and ran into the theater. What if we missed the movie? Oh dear!

I ran inside, the plastic bag containing my straightener hitting against my leg.

I saw Duncan leaning against the snack bar. He immediately asked, "What do you want?"

"Uh…we can just split a popcorn and medium soda. I mean, movie food is fucking massive." I told him.

He shrugged, and got just that. We went into the movie. Duncan persisted we sit all the way in the back. After wondering why the hell he would want that, I finally caught his drift. I, of course, agreed.

We sat in the back, trying to look at the massive screen. It was like a dome.

"How the hell are we supposed to see the whole scre—OH SHIT." I gasped as the seats turned all the way back.

"Where the hell are we, Disney World?" Duncan muttered until we were back on our backs, facing the top of the screen. It was supposed to supply some stargazing mood, like the movie is in the sky. However, it ruined the movie make-out possibility.

We watched the movie, making smartass comments and calling Ron a douche every few minutes.

After the film was over, I left towards the car to go back home. I was about to walk towards this really talented guitarist when he grabbed my wrist and said, "I want to stop at Hot Topic."

And so, he dragged me in the opposite direction towards the store.

The car ride was okay. We talked a bit, mostly about the movie, Paula, and the store. Mostly, we were looking at our hands full of nothingness.

I have the most boring _Hot Topic_ store ever. We didn't get shit. Well, the place is cheap. Props for that. But that's because everyone else is going to the _Spencer's_ next door, and getting their Twilight gear at _Nordstrom's_, the new home of _The Twilight Saga_. My beloved _Hot Topic_ is just begging for customers.

However, today's selection sucked. Besides, the good stuff was way too expensive. We decided to skip buying something for a day.

He kissed me before dropping me off at my house.

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++

After I dropped Gwen off, I rode off to the nearest parking lot (the Target) and checked my phone.

"_Hey there. It's Isabelle."_


	6. Shore House

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_+++++++++

"Wait. How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Fifteen."

"Cool."

I talked to Isabelle the whole way home. My dad would probably slap me _straight_ across the face for breaking the (always _stupid_) "No Cellphone Usage While Driving" law. I didn't give a shit about the law. I honestly did it to test Mister-Police-Chief's patience.

"Hold on," she said.

I heard her exclaim, "I'm not a hobo! I'm just bored!"

She then turned back to my phone and hissed, "What a dickface!"

I laughed. "Dare you to wear ripped clothes and mess up your hair and actually _tell_ people you're a hobo."

"Then all the dickfaces of the world will call me rich."

"Then you'll be satisfied."

After a _very_ brief pause, she sighed, "Ugh, there's a _shitload_ of people begging me for a song. Talk to you later."

"Sure." I nodded, and hung up the phone.

I got home and saw Amber and Calvin sitting on the couch, his arm around her, as they watched _Ghost of Girlfriends Past_. I laughed.

Calvin was so far in the closet, he was having adventures in Narnia.

"I heard that movie sucked," I lied. I didn't no if it was shitty or not.

"Well, you're wrong." Amber snapped.

"Yeah, it's pretty good." Calvin commented.

I rolled my eyes and muttered, "gay" underneath my breath as I walked upstairs.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

Wow. Saturday already.

I packed up my duffel bag and tossed it in my car underneath a blanket so my mom (or a robber) wouldn't peek in there and see it.

I straightened my hair, and wore a red tank-top, a thin black hoodie, with denim shorts. I also sported "flippie-floppies" (still going strong with that).

For makeup, I wore black smoky eye makeup and lipstick of a deep, rich red color. I grabbed my purse and casually rushed down the stairs and exclaimed, "Bye, Mom! I'm going over to a movie party with Duncan and his friends!"

"Really?" she asked, surprised. "Wow…it's been a while since you went to a party. Have fun, then."

I nodded, and ran out the door and into my car.

I dialed Duncan's phone. "Heading off to the shore now?"

"Right now," he nodded. "Tell your mom you're staying over. Say that it's Lexie's house."

"Sure."

"Okay. Love you."

"Love you too."

I hung up, and redialed my mom's phone. I immediately told her, "Hey. The party's over at Lexie's house, and she invited me to stay over."

"Oh! That's nice!"

I ended the conversation. I loved how my mom was so oblivious to what was _really_ going on.

I drove for an hour until arriving at the house. It was small house, yet _still_. It was near the beach, and it was _all to ourselves_.

I immediately arrived to Duncan in the living room, asleep on the couch. It was a long drive; I can _fully_ understand why he could sleep.

I sat down on the floor next to the couch and immediately kissed him. Once he woke up, he instantly started kissing me back.

The day went quickly. It was mostly talking, kissing, and walking along the rocks on the beach. At one point, I slipped, and almost fell, yet he quickly caught me and exclaimed, "Jesus!"

He helped me up towards the "safe" walkway.

I crossed my arms. "Why the fuck are we up _here_?"

"If you fall into the ocean, I will never be able to live with myself," he said. I nodded and blushed.

To add some humorous note, I asked, "What if I became a mermaid?"

He laughed. "What?!"

"Like, you know how the oceans are being all polluted and shit?"

"Yeah?"

"What if like, there was a nuclear reaction and I became a mermaid?"

"Oh, my God. That would be ridiculously _hysterical_."

"Gwen the Magical Mermaid and her barnacle buddy, Steve."

"And I will be Duncan, the random illegal fisherman who fishes her out."

"He will say, 'What the fuck is this shit?'"

"And Steve – brave little Steve – will try to call for help."

"Wait. Aren't barnacles like, microscopic?" I asked.

"Oh. Well, Duncan the Illegal Fisherman will just ignore his pleads for help and try to dig the lure out of her tail."

"He accidentally hurts her and brings her home because the ocean is all foggy."

"'How the hell can you see in the ocean? It's murky as fuck.'"

"She rolls her eyes. He puts her in his cooler for the car ride and then puts her in his bathtub when he gets back."

"With artificial aquarium pebbles and rubber ducks."

"Until he wants to take a bath."

"Then he is just stumped as hell."

"He'll just put her in a puddle."

"Oh, God." He laughed. "She'll just helplessly flap her tail and hope for rainfall."

"And give her a hose in case she gets bored."

"And so ends 'Gwen the Magical Mermaid and Steve the Barnacle Buddy'."

"Fin."

The wind was blowing my hair into my face, and into my lipstick.

It was an all-day nuisance. To make it even _nicer_, the beach wasn't even that scenic. Due to the rising water levels, there were pipes all over the beach, pumping sand.

When we got back, it was nightfall. Undeniably, we had sex.

I sound like such a slut, but it was probably the wildest _ever_. Maybe because we weren't afraid of being caught or anything. It was just…_amazingly great._


	7. The Uninvited

**A/N: Hey, guys. Sorry, I'm grounded for two weeks, but I'll sneak this story in as much as I can. :D**

I woke up to someone knocking loudly on the door. Oh no. I hope this wasn't the police or something! Oh, dear. What if it was my mom, or Duncan's parents? That would be terror.

Duncan threw on a shirt and jeans and ran down the stairs. I could hear some guy's voice echo, "Duncan! What's up?"

"Oh, hey, Ryan. What are you doing here?" I heard Duncan ask.

I put on a T-Shirt, shorts, and quick Vans sneakers. I rushed downstairs. Ryan had the brightest red hair I've ever seen. It wasn't natural ginger. It was bright, fire truck red. He wore a tight, black V-neck shirt, and red-plaid jeans.

He also had black-and-red thread tied around his wrists as bracelets.

"Hey, is it okay if Lexi and Shaun come over?" Ryan asked, punching in numbers on his phone. He glanced up and me and smiled warmly. "Oh, you must be Gwen!"

I waved. "Hi. And you're Ryan, right?"

"Yes, indeedy." He nodded. He then turned back to Duncan and asked, "So they're invited?"

"I guess I have no choice." He rolled his eyes. Immediately, Ryan nodded and said, "Good, because I already did."

Duncan rolled his eyes yet again.

Only fifteen minutes later, a girl with black-and-pink hair entered. Honestly, I wondered if any of Duncan's friends _don't_ dye their hair. She wore checkerboard Ray Ban sunglasses that sealed her eyes away from the rest of the world. However, she removed them, revealing interesting eyes - _pink_. They must have been special contacts.

She clearly had pride in her hair – it was just oozing volume. She wore a white "All Time Low" shirt with a large, pink dinosaur eating a donut on the front (weirder than it sounds) with a pink-and-black plaid skirt. For shoes, she wore black Converse with pink knee-high socks.

Frankly, she looked as if she got dressed in the dark.

She turned towards Duncan and grinned. "Hola."

He nodded. "Hey, Lex."

She turned towards me and exclaimed, "Oh! _You're_ Gwen, right?"

I nodded. She approached me and introduced herself, "I'm Alexandra, call me Lexi."

I nodded and smiled back. "Cool."

Shaun then trailed in – he had black hair that covered his eyes, a hoodie, and jeans. It was sweltering hot out, and just looking at him made the temperature feel as if it jumped seventy degrees.

He nodded towards Duncan. "Hey. Dude. It's fucking _hot_ outside."

"Really." Duncan said sarcastically.

With a disapproving look, Shaun said defensively, "Dude, I look _gay_ in shorts, alright?"

"So do I. Honestly, have you ever heard of a _short fucking sleeved shirt_?"

"Are you serious? I _only_ look good in hoodies. Really, I feel like it's an imbalance between my hair and my shirt."

Duncan murmured, "what" under his breath and turned the TV back on. After five minutes of silence, Duncan asked, "Is Vic coming down?"

"No." Ryan answered.

"Good."

We sat on the couch, watching TV. I had my legs lying over Duncan's lap. Seriously, if _one_ more person comes to this house, I'm going to lose it and book a room at a motel.

"So," Shaun asked innocently, "what do you guys want to do?"

Almost unanimously, we answered, "TV."

Except for Lexi, who answered, "Go to the beach."

Ryan – desperate to try to get people to talk to one another – offered, "Did you bring the Wii down here?"

Duncan shook his head. "Pssh, nobody has the slightest idea where it is."

Ryan sighed and said, "I'm getting food."

"Don't eat everything."

"Gee. Thanks."

The day continued awkwardly, until Lexi and Shaun left. Ryan soon followed. Checking the time, Duncan muttered, "It's twelve."

"Oh," I bit my lip. "My mom's going to flip her shit if I don't get home in four hours."

He then got up and said, "Then we can pack up now and get back home."

I nodded. I got dressed, threw my pajamas back into my suitcase, and went back home. We talked the whole way back while switching between radio stations – at one point or another, the static overcame the song, and you had to station-search again.

When I got back, I immediately put my duffel bag upstairs. I ran back down to see my mom. She was holding my journal.

Oh, _shit_.

You see, I write everything in there – even the sex. Oh, my God. I was screwed. My mom chided me just for that, taking away my cell phone and Duncan-seeing privileges for a week.

School started this Thursday. This was wonderful. I couldn't even see him on the day I went back to hell-on-earth.

"You've only been together for _a month_!" She screamed so loud, her voice could only be heard by dogs at this point. "What the hell happened?!"

I was speechless. She demanded an answer, still. Not knowing what she was exactly asking, I quietly replied, "I…wanted to?"

It was better than some answers girls would probably give. Usually psychiatrists would probably identify a girl's craving for sex to be because they felt fat, insecure, or unpopular. My mom thought I was like any other teenage girl – living in a drug infested ghetto that Philadelphia was stereotyped to be. I find myself ashamed that after countless years of living here, she's overlooked it. Sure, I call Philly a ghetto, but mostly because the area I lived in _was_ somewhat of a ghetto – chain-link fences everywhere, trash in the sewers, and smoke rising from the basements of row homes. And, compared to other places I've been, it's like an urban hell. Regardless, the place had a deep history. I honestly blame the population for overlooking that factor.

I grew up surrounded by gum-popping girls wearing tank tops and too-short shorts, who ask Santa Claus for breast implants at Christmastime. And _they_ were surrounded by ass-grabbing guys with their pants around their thighs, calling it a "popular fad".

Despite my gothic attitude, my mom unfortunately still thinks I'm ghetto at heart. I don't know what goes on in her skull.

Before giving her my phone, I asked if I could call Duncan and let him know _not_ to call. She agreed, and I quickly texted him.

"_My mom's grounding me. I can't go out or go on my phone. D:_"

"_What did you do?_"

I felt telling him that I was grounded for doing it with him would be quite an awkward moment. I lied, "_I poured my brother's soda over his head a few minutes ago for calling me a bitch_."

"_Classy. Well, see you later. You still have AIM, right?_"

"_Yeah, I do. See you_."

And so, I turned off my phone, and handed it to my fuming mother.


	8. School's Start

**A/N: "And you, son, better shut the fuck up before I make you masturbate to an episode of 'Wizards of Waverly Place'." –Mrs. Dawson XD**

**:) Sometimes the little things online make my day.**

**And beware – the third perspective change goes to **_**Amber**_**, not Duncan. Just to avoid any future confusion.**

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++

It was about three days into the nascent school year. I've been getting lots of praise and congratulations from peers – peers I didn't even know existed. Once my locker number got around, it pretty much become a shrine, with "CONGRATULATIONS!" scrawled on gift paper, then smacked on my locker. A piece of computer paper was also on there for signatures. There were short, "Congrats, _(so and so)_" messages, and then notes that were longer than essays written about my win and their longtime support (total bullshit).

One girl even offered me a blowjob. Shows how classy the generation is turning out to be.

But, it was a dark, warm Sunday night, and Isabelle called, asking for a trip to the mall. I took her up on her offer, and while we were inside, it started to pour outside. When we walked out into the parking lot, we stayed under the awning, first shocked at the rain that we saw splash onto the pavement.

Covering our heads with our hands (which came to no avail), we finally reached the car. Our clothing was drenched, but nevertheless, we were hysterical.

As the laughter died down, she softly laid her head on my shoulder and asked, "Why are we laughing?"

I smiled and shrugged. "I don't know."

After a short pause, Isabelle fucking kissed me.

Honestly, why the _hell_ did they always have to kiss _me_ while I was dating someone else?

She really tried to get intimate. Instead of the slow, even steps someone should really take in a relationship, she just said "fuck it" and walked over half of the milestones.

Dear Lord, I sound like Dr. Phil. But goddamn, that was the honest truth.

I held onto the small handles on the roof of the car, trying to get her off of me. She soon saw that I wasn't moving to try to get further – but to get out of it. She shot me a confused look.

"I'm sorry if I led you on," I said, still a bit shocked at the whole ordeal, "but I'm seeing someone."

She thought for a bit, until her face grew deep red. "Oh…right…"

"Yeah."

She sat back down in her seat and then murmured, "This is awkward…"

"Yeah. Kind of." I said, starting up the car.

The rest of the ride was totally silent. It was a struggle, driving, because half of the time I was trying to wipe Isabelle's lip gloss off of my face.

Yeah. Not even my lips. _My fucking face itself_. God, that bitch works fast.

The car was parked in front of her house – it was a newly built, sandstone row home with silver rails. She got out of the car, and to be somewhat polite, I followed. She leaned on the car and asked, "Am I at least worthy of a hug?"

I shrugged, and hugged her. Soon, my hand glided up her shirt, over the corsets, and my fingers were soon running through her hair. It did, in fact, get a little "too close for comfort", being that I kissed her ear, then her cheek, and then soon kissed her lips.

Afterwards, she looked at me. I couldn't do anything but grin a bit and shrug. She walked back into her house, and I went back into the car.

God, I felt so fucking bad. I didn't know what to feel – I felt terrible, like I should just surrender myself to Satan and burn in hell (adultery was some sort of a sin, right?) or keep it to myself. Even keeping a huge detail like a one-night stand…I couldn't keep my mouth shut for more than two months.

This was going to be a problem.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

Ah-hah! The clock struck six, and I rushed down the stairs to get my phone – and more importantly, my Duncan visiting hours – back.

Before I could grab its techy goodness, my mom held it up in the air. I could reach it – my mother wasn't much taller than I was – but I still got the message.

"Promise not to have sex anymore?" she asked to seal the deal. I nodded, even though I obviously was going to continue my ways of the whore.

She handed me the phone back and finally asked, "I mean, you could've gotten pregnant…"

"But it didn't." I shook my head. My mom sounded like my sex education teacher – boring, repetitive, and possibly the biggest abstinence advocator the world has ever known.

"What if you weren't, like, _safe_, per se…"

"But I was."

She sighed, and left the room. I immediately texted Duncan. "_BAK! :)_"

"_Oh, thank God._"

After a few hours of talking, TV, and music, I went to bed, not looking forward to tomorrow.

I got a lot of "I'm sorry about you losing" during my school hours. It sucks that I lost already (the wound, however, had a bandage put on top of it when Duncan won), but they rubbed it in.

So much for team spirit. Besides, the attention I got was too much to sustain my sanity under.

I soon got a text from Duncan. An oddly random one at that. "_No matter what, I love you_."

I texted him back my reply, wondering about why he randomly texted me. And something told me it was a reason to worry.

++++++++_Amber's Perspective_++++++++

_What'd you say?_

_All that you only meant well…_

Ah, another morning waking up to a good song. It made waking up after a short-lived slumber somewhat nice.

However, this one was different. Distantly, in another room, played some gruesome-sounding, dark, morbid song.

Maybe Duncan left his alarm on? Although I seriously doubted it – Mom would usually turn it off.

After straightening my hair and putting on my outfit – a baby blue tank top, a little white hoodie that was cut off at the stomach, and blue jeans – I knocked on his door.

"Are you still here?" I asked, listening for a voice.

"Uh-huh." His voice mumbled.

"Why?"

"I'm 'sick'."

"It's only the third day of school. Why'd you skip?"

For further reference, Mom and Dad were already out on patrol, therefore they couldn't hear any of this conversation unless they bugged Duncan's bedroom (which I honestly think they did).

"I just needed some time to recollect my thoughts."

"Sounds old."

"It's not. It's serious."

"What happened?"

"You tell everyone everything. I'm not telling you."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please? Pretty, pretty, pretty, _pretty_ please?"

I smiled haughtily as my aggravated brother opened the door, giving in. "If I tell you, will you keep your fat, Botox-infused lips _shut_?"

Despite the insult, I nodded. He sighed, hesitant, until he said, "I _accidentally_ cheated on Gwen last night."

I stared. "How the fuck can you do something like that on _accident_?"

In self defense, he protested, "Hey, _Isabelle_ was the one who kissed _me_! I didn't kiss her!"

"Who the fuck is Isabelle?"

"Someone I met a while ago."

"Still, _why_ the hell did she kiss you!"

"Because I led her on!"

I sighed in exasperation and glanced behind him to check the time on his clock. I looked down at my feet and muttered, "God, I better be going."

"Then _go_!" he exclaimed. Calming him down, I held up both my hands. "All right, all right."


	9. Rob

**A/N: As you will see later in the story, I'm trying to get past high school fairly quickly so I can get **_**straight**_** into college…yet I'm trying to do it in a nice manner.**

**Oh, and my mom broke my laptop. Like, the frame is snapping off. So I'm a bit pissed, and it MIGHT show in my writing. :O**

++++++++_Amber's Perspective_++++++++

"Tell her."

"No."

"Get it over with, you'll have a clean conscience."

"No. She _is _going to dump me if I tell her, okay? She's not stupid."

"Tell her that you didn't make the move, okay? She'll forgive you!"

"Stop. You're talking like it's Confession. I can handle this whole thing _myself_, alright?"

I rolled my eyes. I get home, skip out on my homework to help my brother, and this is the shit I get? Nice.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

I got another text from Duncan, halfway through my art homework (draw something associated with summer. For further reference, I was drawing a dollar bill. Why? That's what my summer revolved around).

"_Can we meet up somewhere?_"

"_Sure. Where?_"

"_Somewhere uninteresting_."

"_Park?_"

"_That'll do_."

And so, at the designated time, I left for this park nearby. It was fairly small – it was pretty much just a playground with a nearby field, mostly used for soccer games, picnics, or Frisbee.

I saw Duncan sitting on this bench, typing in stuff on his phone. I sat down, brushed some mulch off, shrugged, and said, "Hi."

"Listen. Can I talk to you?" he asked.

This was worrying me. "Sure. What about?"

"I did something I'm not fully proud of," he told me, "and I can't keep silent about it."

I simply blinked. "What?"

"I accidentally let my friend Isabelle on." He sighed. "She kissed me, I got _really_ awkward, and…it's just something I can't keep quiet about."

"Did you kiss her back?" I asked. In my opinion, that was the only thing that mattered. He didn't control this Isabelle girl like a puppet, controlling her every move. Duncan was pretty much only responsible for himself.

"No, of course not."

"…okay. That's good enough for me."

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++

"No, of course not."

"…okay. That's good enough for me."

God, I felt even shittier than I did before. I just couldn't risk losing Gwen. Not at this point. You see, there are some people you don't care about losing. And then there are the rarities that you can't risk slipping through your fingers.

She was one of those people.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

The rest of the day went great. I broke the promise I made to my mom already – we drove to an abandoned parking lot and had had sex there (it sounds old-folk, but I read in some magazine that the healthiest and happiest couples have sex three times a week. I didn't disagree with the statistics). I didn't want to risk doing it on my property again…my mom could come sniffing us out any moment (that idiom sounded really wrong in that statement and I hereby apologize).

I spent the night texting Pixie about the whole ordeal. After I mentioned the name "Isabelle", she called.

"Pixie?" I asked. "Why'd you call?"

"I know that Isabelle skank!" she exclaimed, and I in return laughed.

"Who is she? Where is she? I _might_ just smack her to death."

"She goes to our school. She used to live in England, and she's a sophomore."

"She's British?"

"Yeah."

"That doesn't sound all that slutty."

"There was a story back a while ago about a thirteen year old kid becoming a dad…is _that_ skanky enough for you?"

"Good enough. I'll go after this girl…tomorrow."

"Hold up, hold up," Pixie stopped me. "Gwen, you can't break shit. I mean, you have trouble opening jam jars! How can you possibly chase after her?"

I sighed and thought it over. I did have a difficult time opening jars. And I almost failed the Presidential Fitness Exam last year.

"I'll destroy her reputation," I told her.

"Pardon?"

"Face it. Reputation gets everyone _everything_ – a job, a social life, and even good grades. If I can ruin _that_ rather than her face, then I'll be fine."

"What will you tell everyone?"

"I'll tell everyone that she enticed Duncan into kissing her. I mean, that's what happened."

"But…he mistakenly enticed _her_."

"The keyword there is _mistakenly_. Besides, Duncan didn't kiss her. She kissed him. That's all people need to know in order for this whore to be brought to justice."

"Ooh. You sound like a devilish Martin Luther King."

"I have a dream that one day, all girls will stick to their boyfriends, or _die alone_. I have a dream today."

"Yeah!"

The conversation ended, and the reputation destroying begins here.

I woke up and called Reaper.

"Reap! Reap! Reap!"

I heard him yawn, and he asked, "What? What? What?"

"Some skank named Isabelle kissed my boyfriend two nights ago. _Spread it all over school_!"

"Why would you want people to know your boyfriend is a playboy?"

I glared at my phone. "It wasn't his fault! It was _hers_ for being a punk whore and _misreading body language_!"

"Okay, okay. I'll talk to you later, girlie."

"See you at school, Reap."

And I therefore hung up the phone.

My plan didn't work out so well. I mean, it spread – yet not to her. Her reputation was still solid.

At the point I'm writing this…it's Christmas. Peter and my mom were still going strong, and in fact, he brought his niece and sister over.

His niece – I forget her name – was a bitch. A total, stuck-up bitch. Not even my powers – the "I'm famous" one that I hated to use – wouldn't make her nice. She just hated everything and everyone – except for diamonds and Robert Pattinson.

We were in the basement. We sat on opposite ends of the couch, watching my brother play Wii. I texted Duncan most of the time. At one point, he called me, and I think I annoyed her even more by laughing at almost everything he said.

After a moment, she asked, "Do you keep in touch with that Trent guy?"

I shook my head. "Not really. Why?"

"Oh," she slightly rolled her eyes. "I was wondering if you could set me up. But whatever."

I walked upstairs. My uncle was there – my amazing Uncle Robert. He was in his early thirties, and was goth like me. He wore a white dress shirt, a black tie, a red jacket, black dress pants and black dress shoes. He inspired me to go gothic a few years back, and to add, he was my favorite person _ever_.

"Hi, Rob," I waved. (He likes for me to call him Rob, because apparently the title "Uncle" makes him feel old.)

"Hey, kid," he waved. I sat next to him as my mom and Peter watched the football game. Glaring a bit at Peter, Rob whispered in my ear, "You don't like him, do you?"

"Not really." I looked at Peter in some disgust.

He nodded, understanding. "He looks like a douchebag."

I nodded. "That's accurate."

My mom looked over at us and asked, "Do you two want pigs in a blanket?"

We both shook our heads. The oven then went off and my mom exclaimed, "Oh! The ham…!"

Peter hopped up after her and said, "I'll help you."

After they left the room, Rob bit his lip. To break the tension, he asked, "So, your mom is flipping her shit over the fact you and Duncan fucked."

I nodded. Instead of the expected abstinence speech, he grinned – showing the teeth he sharpened to look like vampire fangs – and high-fived me. "You have moves, kid. I'm surprised you actually have that attitude, Gwensy."

I shrugged. I didn't see losing my virginity as a huge accomplishment as Rob did.

Soon, we had to open presents. Just to show you how awkward and shitty my relationship is with Peter, he bought me two things – a Jonas Brothers CD and a Beatles shirt. I mean, the shirt was good, only it was a size too big.

My mom got me an _Alice in Wonderland_ makeup kit – it wasn't the old, classic one. It was the new one. When you opened it, there was a really cool pop-up scene of Alice walking in this forest of creepy trees. I loved it.

Rob got me this really awesome _Foo Fighters_ CD. To improve the awesomeness of the whole gift, Dave Grohl _himself_ signed it.

"Oh my Jesus!" I exclaimed. "How'd you get this signed?!"

"I went to the Foo concert this summer," he nodded, "and got it signed for you."

"Thank you so much, Rob!" I exclaimed.

Afterwards, I called Duncan. "What'd you get?"

"Nothing of importance," he sighed. "You?"

"A signed _Foo Fighters_ CD and some other stuff," I explained, "it's pretty cool."

"Nice," he commented.

We continued talking for ten minutes, much to my family's (and Peter's) disapproval. It was mostly about the guests at these fucking Christmas parties – I slurred mine outside of the family room, and complimented them while inside (there wasn't much). But what really pissed them off was my loud laughter whenever Duncan described his.

"Paula came over," he sighed.

"Lindsay's dumbass sister?"

"Yep."

"The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, does it?"

"Well, anyway, she's trying to seduce my brother."

"Oh, no."

"He's not giving in. Which, to me, is a surprising move."

"Isn't your brother a playboy?"

"Somewhat."

That was probably a highlight of the conversation. Before hanging up (or while my mom asked me to hang up so the phone bill wouldn't be too expensive), I said, "Okay. See you later, hon. And I wish your brother luck."

"You and me both, sister."


	10. Terrible

**A/N: I have a proposition. XD I'm trying to get my story out there. Tell your friends, per se? :D XD**

The rest of the school year went well. School went by slowly, and the weekends with Duncan passed in a flash.

I graduated junior year with flying colors. I got exemplary grades in all subjects but Algebra. My mom was once again oblivious to the fact I broke that promise (multiple times). That Isabelle slut left for England, and that made the last day even better. Once the final bell rung, everyone darted out the door and straight home. I got back home, and immediately dialed Duncan's phone.

"Hey! I'm done!" I exclaimed.

"Shweet," he said in agreement. He then asked, "What are you doing tonight?"

"Going out to dinner with Pixie Corpse, Reaper, and Marilyn." I answered. I then offered, "Want to come?"

"Yeah, sure. Where are you going?"

"Friendly's."

"What time?"

"Six."

"Okay. See ya then."

I then called Marilyn. "Marilyn, Duncan's coming to Friendly's."

"Really? That's great!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah. See you at six."

"Okay, see ya."

Dinner went well. Everyone seemed to like everyone else. Only the food was terrible.

I had these gross-looking cheeseburger sliders, even though all of the cheese melted onto the wax paper. And, there was a surplus of mustard. I'm usually not picky about food but _mustard_ was my arch nemesis. It, in my opinion, is one of the most disgusting condiments mankind has ever invented – next to sauerkraut.

The place was mainly a family place, but it was close to the high school, so it was pretty much transformed into a teen hangout. None of us really ate our food – I only ate one little cheeseburger, until I gave up and ate the waffle fries.

For dessert, we just slushied pretty much every ice cream flavor known to man.

We then drove back to our houses. Before he left, Duncan and I just kissed inside his car. Whore-ish? Yes. Very, very whore-ish.

The summer was perfect. Duncan and I spent it together – pretty much all the time. I met his parents, finally – they were freaking dedicated to their roles as police officers. While Duncan's mom was the "Good Cop", Duncan's dad was the "Bad Cop". I could've tossed a gum wrapper on the street and he would've given me a hefty fine for littering.

And, that summer, I got a paycheck. Not from a job, but from competing on the show. Apparently, the show was _illegal_. I mean, it was legal for people over eighteen to do by force. But not minors. So, each contestant got paid ten thousand dollars.

I didn't quite understand what the felonies were, but hey – I can't argue with ten thousand bucks.

However, while this summer was starting out great, Peter soon ruined it in June.

They were getting quite serious, and Peter suggested moving to New York. It was full of new opportunities, Broadway, and everything that my mother dreamed of as a child.

You see, my mom was very exuberant. She grew up cheery and happy. She spent her days chasing butterflies and her nights jarring fireflies. She always dreamed of being an actress – not the ones that usually transformed into drug addicts, but the ones on Broadway. Peter thought that at least moving in the town that held the theater would make her feel as if she reached her dream.

Then this is where I got really mad – my mom said she would agree to leaving town once I moved out.

Although I usually think for myself, I was more concerned for Alex. He couldn't survive in New York City at all. He just would _not_ like it.

And I knew he didn't. Once he found out, he asked if I was planning to live in Philadelphia for the rest of my life.

"Depends," I shrugged. "I mean, if I have kids, I'll probably move to the suburbs, or somewhere like Washington. Somewhere far away."

He paused, then said, "Not even three years?"

"No," I shook my head. At this point in time, I was still blind to what he was asking me.

It wasn't until a day after that I finally got it. I told my mom, but she said her mind was set.

This was terrible. And July only got worse.

My mom ran in the door excitedly, flaunting her new _engagement ring_. I ran upstairs at the scene, almost in tears. Duncan and I were together longer than that, and we're not even engaged (I don't even think I could be at this age, either). I didn't like Peter! Not even Rob liked him, either!

In my sadness, I called Rob and told him of the whole ordeal. To my liking, he offered that I can go to his condo down the shore so I could spend some time alone. He told me the location of the key, and hoped for the best.

I wrote a note to my mom:

_I've been under a lot of stress lately, so I'm at an undisclosed location so I can get my thoughts together. I will come back in less than five days, and it's somewhere safe. My phone is on, and don't worry. – Gwen._

In the car, I called Duncan and told him about what happened. "Gwen, I'm coming down."

"No, it's fine." I persisted.

"Seriously. I'm coming down."

"Wow…thanks. Okay, I'll see you down there."

I drove until I reached Rob's condo. He said it was the third floor; key is under the mat. I reached underneath the _Welcome!_ mat, stuck the key in the lock, and went inside. It started raining. I hoped this wouldn't affect Duncan's driving.

About thirty minutes later, Duncan arrived. I looked outside. Something small dropped out of his pocket. He looked up, clenched his teeth in anger, and picked it up, trying to get some water out as he hopped up the steps.

We talked for a while about the whole ordeal. However, at one point, we were silent. And sometimes silence says everything.

I went to the guest room to sleep, along with Duncan. Honestly, I was afraid there was cum in Rob's bed for some reason – as I think I said earlier, he's somewhat of a sex fanatic.

I held onto Duncan for the rest of the night. Right now, he felt like he was one of the only people on my side.

"I love you so much," I said, still upset. My mom can't be marrying someone I don't like at all. Nyuh-uh. You're not _supposed_ to.

"I love you, too," he sighed, and we both fell asleep.

I woke up, and Duncan was apparently in the living room. As I proceeded to get up, my ring got caught on the sheets. I yanked it off, accidentally snapping a thread on the bed sheet.

Hold on. I looked at my finger. I bit my lip as I saw the huge diamond on my finger. _Holy shit_.

I'm engaged. I'm fucking engaged. I didn't care if I was too young, and I didn't care about what anybody said about it.

I was in love, and I was _engaged_.

Well, not yet. I ran towards the living room. Duncan was lying on the couch, watching the TV. He turned towards me, smiled, and asked, "Well then?"

I couldn't speak. All I did was just smile widely and nod. Soon, I answered, "Yes."

I was ecstatic. Ecstatic, ecstatic, ecstatic.

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++

My mom said I should propose in front of everybody. And when I'm at least twenty-five.

Being the son-of-a-bitch that I am, I didn't fulfill her wants. I mean, proposing in front of everyone you know – that's douchey. I would do it myself, my way, and indeed I have.


	11. Basic Frame of a Wedding

**A/N: ATTENTION**

**HOLY SHIT I NEED YOUR ATTENTION**

**Would a Duncan and Gwen fanfic about vampires (ANTI-TWILIGHT! ANTI-TWILIGHT!) be cool? It's where Duncan is a vampire and Gwen wants to start a romance with him even though it could cost Duncan his life (lol its like "Sure, the sex may get you murdered, but who the hell cares?"). Rated M, of course.**

The hard part of this engagement will not be planning the whole marriage (I got a notebook, a wedding magazine, and a shitload of paperclips on the way home for the plans). My maid of honor was definitely going to be Pixie Corpse. Why? She's smart, and goes along with everything. The hardest part will be telling my mother.

It was…about eleven, actually. I left later than I had hoped for. Driving in the dark was a pain in the ass - especially on Route 665 (previously Route 666, until a bunch of Christian advocators forced the name to be changed), which is a long, winding road surrounded by trees. The only lights on the road were the headlights of cars and the little reflective things on the road that marked out the street during the nighttime.

I went home, dropped my bag on the floor, and immediately heard my mom scurry towards the door. She immediately screeched, "Oh, my God!"

After the longest and tightest and most unwanted hug in the history of the universe, I asked, "Can I tell you something?"

I sat down on the couch. A lump as big as a baseball formed in my throat. I couldn't speak. I didn't have enough courage to face this head on. I soon did, and said, "I find myself engaged."

She stared, somewhat surprised. "Huh."

I gave her a bewildered look. I expected either jubilant screaming or the longest punishment _ever_. "What are you 'huh'-ing about?"

"I thought he'd propose sometime in the winter."

"You knew?!"

"Yeah. He emailed sometime earlier so I wouldn't flip out."

Nice move, Duncan. Very nice move. "Smart."

"Have you started planning?"

"I have a few ideas."

I did - the date would be after graduation, so the family would be in the area for both events. My half of the bridal party has been half-decided, as well. Pixie would be the Maid of Honor, first of all. The bridesmaids would be Marilyn, Bridgette (if she could fly in. I texted her, and she said it'll most likely work), and maybe Amber. She'd probably be forced onto my bridal party as Alex will be forced onto Duncan's.

However, the color wasn't fully decided. I decided the two main colors would be black and white, yet the third color? It was a tie between red and dark purple.

Immediately after finding out my mom was absolutely fine with the whole early-wedding situation, I knocked on my brother's door. I mean, my mom's probably forcing him onto the party. He might as well know.

He grumbled, "What?"

"Uh…I'm back." I told him.

I heard some sheets rustle when he groaned, "Good to have you back."

"And I'm engaged."

That seemed to catch his attention. "Really?!"

"Yeah. It seems you're in the bridal party."

He paused. "Do I have to cut my hair?"

"No."

"Then I accept."

I nodded slowly, and walked upstairs to my room. I stayed up late looking at those wedding magazines - I found this really nice, simple wedding dress. It was cheap, yet sophisticated. It was a full dress with no train - usually photographers end up treading on them, and I didn't want that to happen - that covered my feet, so it looked flowy. There was a ribbon around the waist - although I was already pencil-thin already, it made me look somewhat thinner - with a big (yet not tacky) bow on the back. You could choose the color of it, and my two rival colors were available.

I texted Pixie at this time - she was excited about me appointing her as Maid of Honor - and she said to choose purple.

"The only other shades of red are orange, pink, and maroon," she pointed out, "and they don't work together. While purple has lavender, plum…all of these colors that work together. Besides, black and red is always the usual color combination."

I took her advice, and went with purple. The bridesmaids' dresses were a deep, rich black with a dark purple ribbon across the waist, similar to mine.

Oh, and the flower girl. Believe it or not, Rob has a young daughter. He _was_ married once - and for a short period of time - and he has a daughter named Evelyn. He gets to see her bimonthly - and June is included in those certain months. So, it would work out well. So, her dress was this very light purple - almost white - with a darker shade of purple for the ribbon.

However, most likely to people's disinterest, I didn't want a reception. Why? I can't drink, I don't want a first dance, and I don't like crazy parties like receptions turned out to be. If I got one, I would make it sort of elegant, like an old-fashioned ball thing. I was considering a masquerade, but I quickly threw the idea out - that was going overboard.

It sounds very demanding and against popular culture nowadays, but it's just the way I like things to be - orderly, somewhat dark, with a hint of elegance thrown in.

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++

"Aw, that's _so cute_!" Amber exclaimed yet again.

She demanded I tell her of the engagement. I did, and needless to say…she found it "romantic".

Hell, I just did it to avoid the possibly awkward kneeling-and-reciting-your-dedication thing. Besides, it was clichéd. I might as well make it somewhat unique and "memorable". I didn't initially conjure it up so Gwen could recall the whole event as "romantic".

I called Gwen. She picked up and asked, "Hello?"

"Gwens. Hey." I said, trying to keep my voice down so Amber didn't hear about anything.

"What's up?"

"Any plans yet?"

"How about the colors black and violet for the wedding?"

_Violet_. If it was lavender, I'm breaking it off.

"What _shade_?" I asked.

"Dark purple. Like a grape, sort of."

"No lavender, right?"

She laughed as if the answer was obvious. "Psssh, no."

I smiled. "Good. Uh…try sending me the plans, okay?"

"Surely. And, I was just wondering…"

"What?" I asked. I glanced over at Amber, who was excitedly trying to listen in.

"Do you want a reception?"

Receptions were usually something considered to be mandatory, but receptions all ended the same way: three-hundred people drunk off of champagne in a big hall dancing their formalwear off. Besides, I can't even drink yet. If Gwen and I even touched the champagne, my dad would definitely ensure that we'd leave in handcuffs rather than a limousine. I was sort of afraid to tell her I didn't want one.

"Do you?" I asked, biting the inside of my lip.

She paused and said, clearly ambivalent, "Uh…no."

"You sure?"

"Definitely. But everyone _will _want a party."

"Uh…maybe we can have a reception. Only what should we exclude? I mean, there's some aspect that we don't like."

"I don't really like the wildness of it. And, I don't really want the first dance."

"Me neither. And I don't want the bridal party coming in dancing like idiots."

I then heard Amber get up, accuse me of being a "fun slaughterer" and walk out.

"Who was that?" Gwen asked.

"Nobody," I quickly said, and resumed talking about the wedding. "So, no first dance, and we need sane-looking intros. Deal?"

"Deal."

I bit my lip. "So where's the reception, Gwens?"

"I don't know."

After a pause, I shrugged, "My parents can get a hall. Like a fancy one. With a waterfall."

I could hear her smile through the phone lines. "Ooh. Fancy."

"What about flowers? Can you get some sort of dark flower?"

"The florist I'm going to hybrids flowers. So we can get purple roses. Maybe we can even get black. If it goes well, we can get a white, black, and purple bouquet."

"Sounds good."

"And for the reception centerpiece, I would _really_ like tall vases with irises inside. That would like nice."

"Sounds great."

She then sighed and said despondently, "I'll call you later, 'kay?"

"Okay. See you, Gwens."

"And Duncan?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you so much."

"Love you more."

"G'bye."

I hung up the phone, and continued watching TV.

**A/N: I'm back until Monday – then I'll be off until Wednesday. So…yay, I'm back? XD**


	12. Marriage

**A/N: Watch this and try to tell me this isn't horrible. I just saw it, and…I think I'm the only 90's fan that hates this band.**

**Seriously.**

**.com/watch?v=Q76QJ4XT5Fg&feature=related**

I dragged my wedding notebook through the whole school, planning the wedding with my friends during lunch. I told everyone that I was planning Rob's, and it thankfully worked.

Duncan and I occasionally met up to plan the wedding until finally – the rehearsal. The graduation was over – it wasn't special, especially since Peter was in attendance. But this rehearsal…_one _exciting day before the wedding. All the dresses were in – fitting perfectly – and every piece was falling into its place.

The rehearsal was at my old church. I saw Duncan. He dyed his hair totally black, like mine, so his striking green hair wouldn't be too much of a contrast. Pixie dyed her hair totally purple – she wanted to dye it that color for a long time, anyway.

The rehearsal went swimmingly. Even though Evelyn is so eccentric, she agreed to stay still as long as she could eat Pop-Tarts at the rehearsal dinner rather than steak. I easily accepted that – I would give her a Pop-Tart anyway. I mean, seriously – would you rather give a girl with a sweet tooth a tart costing $3.00 or a nine-ounce steak costing around $17.00?

Yeah. The answer is pretty fucking obvious.

The dinner was fantastic. Everything was correct. The only problem is that Alex and Amber – they walked together in the wedding – they attracted each other like oil and water.

For those not science-smart, that means they totally repelled each other.

Oh, and at one point, Duncan's parents almost caught us drinking. Most people went to the bar outside of the rehearsal-dinner-room place to get a drink or check up on the Phillies game. My mom didn't care if I drank – she said it was my wedding, and I could do whatever I wanted. During that time, we pretty much downed the wine, and poured ourselves another glass. While they were in the room, we hid it underneath the table. The point where we almost got caught is when Duncan was pouring another serving of wine, until his dad immediately walked back in the door.

To escape the accusation, Duncan thrust the glass in George's direction, who shrugged and decided to drink it, even though he had a glass of white wine right in front of him.

It was a close call. We were lucky that we escaped it. That night was the longest I ever had. In a matter of hours, my wedding day would commence.

Oh my God! Today was my wedding! I immediately jumped up out of my bed in my _new_ apartment (Duncan and I just bought the place. It was new, and we just bought a bunch of black furniture so when we moved into a real house to start a family). I looked outside my window. Pixie arrived a little later with the bridal party. Their dresses hung over their arm, and they rushed in the building. So did Tom's wife – she was a hairstylist, and also a makeup artist. It was a convenience. Everyone got in their dress – except for Tom's wife. Her name was...Angie or something. She did everyone's makeup and hair – after I was done, I apparently looked "radiant", according to Marilyn.

After all the makeup and such, the cute little trolley came by (a limo was too glamorous, and a bus was too skeevy) to pick up the bridesmaids.

I was so excited. So, so excited.

I was literally shaking from excitement the whole way there. I grasped the flowers – white roses and purple roses, since black roses weren't available (I was disappointed) – tightly, the chlorophyll in the stems almost dripping on my hands.

The bus parked in front of the church almost made me swoon. My legs weak, I got out of the bus, wearing an eternal smile. I thought I'd be like, thirty when I was married. Like, settling for a guy I met on eHarmony, knowing that I'd probably die alone otherwise. Today was the total opposite.

I saw my mom, who immediately ran up and hugged me. "Oh! Oh! You look _so pretty_!"

Attempting to calm her down, I said politely, "Thanks, Mom."

"Nervous?" she asked.

"Not at all."

"Good."

With a final squeeze on my shoulder, she called, "And congratulations again!"

I waved in acknowledgement, and rushed to the starting place. I was so restive. I wanted to savor the day – yet I also wanted to get it over with. The work leading up to this was excruciating. The fact that I had to plan during study hall was a big reason why. And, sometimes I planned during class. I got it confiscated a few times – until the teacher saw the fact it was stuffed with wedding plans. He/she just handed it back, admonished me, and told me to keep better care of it. I did – any spot of dirt on that damn book was immediately scrubbed off.

The wedding, so far, was amazing. The music just started and all.

And, since I don't have a real father to lead me down the aisle, Rob agreed to do the honors. I didn't want Peter to do it – first of all, I didn't like or want to see him as a father figure. Besides, Rob was a better parental figure rather than my actual father – whatever his name, wherever he may be in this world. Hopefully he'd be somewhere terrible and dangerous. Like Detroit.

After walking up the aisle, I was still grinning and giggling at times. While the priest droned on during the mass, Duncan and I were simply talking at the wedding, worrying about the reception, and stuff like that.

Then, we exchanged the vows and when it was time to kiss, you can bet your bottom fucking dollar that it was the best kiss of my _damn life_.

We almost ran back down the aisle, and I was so damn happy. I was actually tearing up. I squeezed Duncan's hand even more, and he looked at me, smiling even more. I ran on the trolley, checking that my dress didn't get caught on anything. Thank God it didn't.

I sat down on the trolley, and leaned on Duncan's chest. Now, I just wanted to go home with Duncan, and live the rest of our married lives together.

However, I knew it wasn't totally ever yet.


	13. Moving Out

**A/N: General Larry Platt is now a VISIONARY. Thank you.**

The reception went just as planned. The way to get back was complicated, but we figured it out. My mom and Peter drove separate cars down here, and after the reception, Mom drove back home in Peters car, and Duncan and I drove back to her house in my mom's car. Our car was already parked at her house, and that's where we drove back home.

It was extremely complex. Yet it worked. The only hard thing to do was to get the dress inside the car. Once we got inside the apartment with all of the flowers and gifts – it took almost ten trips to drag everything in.

Once everything was done, I leaned against the wall of the bedroom. I exhaled, "My God."

He walked in and immediately kissed me. I kissed him back, and he started trying to unzip the dress. On multiple occasions, the zipper got caught on the lace, and Duncan stopped for a millisecond to mutter, "Damn it."

Otherwise, it was pretty nice. And to add, Pixie Corpse persuades me to get lingerie or something for the wedding night. To me, it seemed _way_ stripper-y. But, after long thought, I decided to invest in some anyway. I mean, it's a good change in the means of sex and all.

And sex did, inexorably, commence. The formalwear was just sitting on the ground like everyday things, taken for granted. But at the time, I didn't care. It was when I woke up when I exclaimed, "Good God!" and immediately hung them up. I heard Duncan snicker, and I turned back to glare at him.

"This is some _expensive shit_, Duncan!" I exclaimed defensively.

I calmed down, and asked, "So, wait…are you getting a dorm or staying here?"

While I was in Princeton, Duncan said he actually made it University of Pennsylvania (a _huge_ shock to us all), mostly because of the whole fame-and-money thing. It would piss me off, but hey – it was an Ivy League school. I let it pass by.

"I'm staying here," he answered, and sighed, "for five freaking _years_. By myself."

"Aw." I said playfully. "I mean, I'll come during breaks and all. Besides, I'm only going for four."

I was only going to go for journalism. It's a big college, but "Princeton" on your resume was probably going to get you a good job. Definitely.

Whoever houses Princeton students in their dormitories is a _moron_.

So, I go in my dorm, drop off everything I needed and daintily set up my laptop on the desk and everything. I put my mattress on the bottom bunk, set the alarm, and stacked all of my CD's on the desk in no real order. When my roommate got here, if she had a problem with the organization, I'd allow a few practical changes.

As I was trying to take my comforter out of the stupid little plastic bags they packaged them in, my roommate came in. She had light blonde hair, a fake tan, and looked like she came straight from _Jersey Shore_. She waved and asked, "You're my new roommate, right?"

I slapped on a fake smile and nodded. "Yeah. I'm Gwen. Nice to meet you."

She put her bags in the closet real quick and said, "I'm Stella. What are you majoring in here?"

"I'm planning on being a journalist," I explained, throwing the comforter over my mattress. "You?"

As she went on and on about her wanting to be a pediatrician (I will _never_ trust any child I may have with her), I placed a photo frame of Duncan and I at our reception. Professional pictures look way too unnatural. The smiles were drawn on by the photographer, while a picture of someone laughing was actually genuine.

"You're married?" she asked, examining the picture further.

"Yep," I nodded. "Recently."

After a short, awkward silence, I asked, "Do you mind if I put on music?"

I always asked this whenever with other people – my music conflicted with pop. She shrugged and answered, "Whatever you want."

I nodded, put my iPod on the dock, and started playing "You Are So Beautiful" (the screamo version). Now, it was her with the fake smile, as she asked, "What is this?"

"Escape the Fate," I answered innocently, trying to stuff the stupid pillows in their tight pillowcases. It was like trying to stuff Owen into a Speedo – you just couldn't do it.

"It's…pleasant." She said through her teeth, as if the smile she wore was scribbled on her face with permanent marker.

I pretended that I was going along with her charade. "Thank you."

College went…okay. Everyday was like a fake out with Stella – we both acted as if we liked each other. I acted like I had an interest in hip hop, and she acted like she loved alternative rock. On every break, I went back to Philadelphia to my _loving_ husband (I sound old). Duncan – surprisingly, again – didn't have trouble in college. Since I told him he could_ not _be a Marine – I couldn't risk losing him – he decided to be an engineer so he could at least _work_ for the Marines.

My mom – indeed move to New York City. By "luxurious apartment" – as Peter assured her – it was a crappy loft on the second story of a sushi place. The first night, my mom called me and asked, "Do you _know_ how terrible it is living on top of a restaurant that serves raw fish? My God, I have fifteen scented candles in my kitchen _alone_."

"Then move back to your old house," I begged, "then we'll _all_ be happy."

"Afraid I can't do that. And nobody has bought it yet, huh?"

I sighed and said, "Nope."

After a pause, she proposed, "Why don't _you_ two buy it?"

My face lit up. "That's…a good offer."

"Yeah. You'll be familiar with it, and you can refurnish it all you want."

That fascinated me – I've always wanted to remodel my house. I hated its style and its feel. It's always something I wanted to do. I looked forward to reshaping the dwelling into something my mother could hardly recognize.

Soon enough, we did buy the house. It looked so empty without all of the familiar furniture being in there. I walked up to my old room. It looked even emptier than the house. It also had millions of miniscule holes in the wall from where posters once hung. Now the posters were rolled up in a box I never bothered to unpack when I got to the apartment.

After we remodeled the whole place – for example, the living room had this really nice white wallpaper with a black, ornate pattern, and a purple shaggy carpet. The bedroom had black, silky curtains that substituted as the wallpaper with a blood red carpet. The bed had a wire frame. Everything now had a gothic touch.

I transformed my bedroom into an office – I put all of my old posters back where I remember them being, along with a desk. We had two laptops – one for each of us – on the desk, one next to each other, or in the laptop carrying case.

Things went on as planned every year, until my final year of college.


	14. News

**A/N: This is a short chapter…but a vital one to read.**

During my final year, at Christmas, we decided to skip out on the Christmas parties and simply stayed home. I just started birth control, and we tested it out that night.

Worked quite well, actually.

When I went back to Princeton, I got back at about lunchtime. Even though I hate fast food joints, I went to KFC for some chicken.

I came back to the dorm, uploaded some new CDs I got on my iTunes Library, and played it aloud while waiting for Stella to get here. About three-quarters through my CD, I felt sick. With my hand covering my mouth, I ran towards the bathroom and heaved my stomach out. I used about a whole bottle of mouthwash to get the taste of spoiled chicken out of my mouth, and lied on my bed. Usually when I go to bed, I stay up for an hour or so – I think I have insomnia, to be honest – yet I fell straight asleep.

After a couple of sick days, I was venting to Stella about the whole thing. That's until she giggled, "This may seem far fetched, but it seems you're pregnant!"

I got extremely pale. I wasn't planning on this until _after_ college. I looked up at her and choked out, "I…I don't think so."

"Did you have sex with your husband, girlie?"

"Yeah. Protected sex. _So I don't get pregnant_."

"You might have misused the pill?"

I bit my lip and immediately got up and rushed towards the nearby pharmacy without another word. I bought a test, and ran straight back to my dorm.

I took the test, praying to myself.

_No pink lines, no pink lines, no pink…_

…lines. Two bright lines eventually showed up. I stared. I was somewhat excited – I mean, I'm going to have kids – and they'll be born after graduation. That would work out nicely. Yet it was _five months_ before I planned to get pregnant. Immediately after, I called Duncan. "Hey. Can I talk to you?"

"Hey, babe. What's up?"

"Uh…don't freak out."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, well…I just found out I was pregnant."

"That's…"

"…great. I mean, I know we weren't planning to be here at this point, but…I mean, the sooner, the better?"

"Yeah. I guess that is true. I'm excited. And are you sure you'll be okay?"

"Of course. I'm at _college_, not Haiti. I can handle it."

He laughed. "Sure, sure. I've got to go – I'm working on an assignment, so I'll see you later?"

"Of course. Love you."

"Love you, too."

I hung up and said to myself, "Well, that went well."

"He didn't like it?" Stella asked, hardly sounding compassionate. She must've thought I was speaking sarcastically.

"No," I shook my head. "He's excited. I'm…pretty happy myself."

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++

I hung up my cell phone, and immediately walked into Alex's old room. It was empty, with black paint splatters across the electric green walls. I immediately sat down on the carpet and looked around.

I'd probably be responsible for turning this into some sort of nursery. If it was a girl, I'd probably have to paint this room pink. However, if it was a boy, I'm definitely keeping the green-and-black wall.

It was _amazing_ – much unlike my room back home (which my parents most likely converted into a sauna – they couldn't wait until we left).

Soon after I finished examining the room, I got up, shut the door, and called her again.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

My phone started vibrating again. I held it up and checked the caller I.D. It was Duncan again. Befuddled, I picked it up and – even though I knew who was calling – I asked, "Hello?"

"Me again." He said.

"Hi. What's up?"

"I'm…just really excited."

I smiled. "You're cute. And…I thought you had an assignment?"

"I think my own kid is more important than a stupid little report."

I smiled even wider.

Shopping for maternity wear. I hated it. It made you feel like such a whore, honestly – everyone in the "Motherhood" store was in their thirties or late twenties.

I was a few months pregnant – only about four. Only one month until I can go back home.

I felt stares. So only a few minutes into shopping, I picked up my phone, turned it off, and talked into a dead phone about how I'm doing my sister a favor by picking up maternity jeans for her.

I felt tremendously pathetic.

I quickly left the store, and ran off to Hot Topic to calm my nerves. I got a few buttons for my purse – one with the "Apple Corps" logo, one with the Nirvana smiley, and a white one that looked as if blood was dripping on it. Then, I bought earrings – they were red ribbon bows suspended by little chains from the ear. I don't know if I explained that well, but I liked them. I also bought brownish-red nail polish that appeared like dried blood.

I was really into blood these days.

Once I got all that I wanted, I got in my car and immediately texted Duncan. This pregnancy was really nice – rather than calling each other just to talk about school and all, we usually just texted each other with simple "I love you" messages. It wasn't as long and thoughtful, but it made me blush.

"_I can't wait until I come home. I can't wait until I see you. I love you._"

I closed my phone, and drove back to my dorm. Stella was out, and I took this as an opportunity to actually look at my stomach.

It looked…full. And I wasn't even halfway through my pregnancy.

I was afraid of the possibility of triplets or something. I immediately told myself, "You're…you're okay. Okay. Maybe you're overeating."

I yawned, and lied down to sleep. After I finally got situated, I got a text. I exhaled, pissed at this sudden interruption.

I grabbed my phone and flipped it open. "_Love you too._"

I didn't care to reply – I was too tired – and threw it in the pillow case.


	15. Surprises

Duncan and I graduated on the same day, so we couldn't attend each other's graduations (unfortunately). However, my mom, Peter, and Alex attended. I didn't have a party like they wanted me to have. However, once I was done, I drove straight home to my house.

In a week I would find out the sex of the baby.

My appointment was accidentally scheduled during Duncan's classes, so I had to go by myself. I went to the office. The doctor – I think his name was Dr. Barsowski, but I'm unsure – put some cold jelly-like material on my stomach, which made me shiver a bit. While scanning over notes on a clipboard, he said, "Well, congratulations on the kids. They're perfectly fine."

That caught my attention. I looked at him and asked, "I beg your pardon?"

He smiled, and said, "Congratulations. You're having twins."

Oh. My. God.

Can Duncan and I even try to support _two_ kids? "Uh…boy or girl?"

"One boy, one girl. You and your husband are pretty lucky."

I nodded. After the appointment I drove back home and looked at my office. I'd probably have to move it to the living room. And take down my posters. I took down the posters yet again, and put it back in the box.

Duncan came back and asked, "Where are you?"

"In the nu—office." I answered, picking up a thumbtack that fell on the carpet. I picked it up, and put it in the container on the desk.

He walked, in and stopped at the sight of all the posters being down. He looked at me and asked, "Where did all of the posters go?"

I bit my lip. "In a box."

"Why?"

I put my hands in my pockets. Without any more clarification, I answered, "Twins."

He stared. "You serious?"

I nodded. He simply walked up to me and hugged me tightly. He asked, "What are the sexes of the kids?"

"Boy and girl," I said into his shirt.

"We can like, handle this, right?" he asked, rubbing my back.

I nodded. "We can."

We struggled to carry the desk downstairs. We carried the chair down first – it was so easy to drag down – yet the desk was a whole different story. The wood was really weak, and we were afraid that the whole desk would fall apart if we weren't careful. Once we got to the corner of the living room, we dropped the desk, went back up, got the box containing all of the knickknacks that once sat there, put them back, and lied down on the couch.

He started twirling my hair between his fingers when he said, "I'm not painting that room pink. I just _can't_."

"I didn't ask you to," I snapped, and said, "Can you paint it yellow?"

"Yellow and black."

"It'll look like a school bus."

"Bee-themed."

I sighed in defeat. "Sure. Sure. Paint it like that."

After a pause, I asked, "Why?"

"Because I just can't go into a room that's pale yellow with _rabbits_. I'd rather take the lame version of a wasp."

I rolled my eyes. "Typical, typical."

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++

Goddamn it.

At this point in time, Gwen's due date (September 21) is only a few days away. She's staying over at Marilyn's - who, thank God, still lives in the area.

I mean, I was going out for a fifth year of college. I wouldn't be at the house during all times of the day.

Things got fucked up on September 20th. I was _innocently_ in class when my phone started vibrating. I quickly shut it off just to cease the annoying "bzzrt" sound it released.

While the professor had his back turned, I immediately dug it back out of my pocket. Marilyn texted. Oh, no.

"_GODDAMN IT GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OVER TO THE DAMN HOSPITAL._"

I bit my lip. The lecture was over in ten minutes. Damn it, damn it. "_Damn it…I'll be there in ten?_"

"_AT THE FUCKING LATEST!!!_"

I anxiously lived out the rest of the class. Once it was over, I ran towards the door, dashed out, and sped off to the hospital. Every traffic light seemed to flash red when I got to it, which made me only more pissed off that this was happening _now_.

Once I got to the hospital, I dashed in, ran towards the hospital room, and pretty much got there halfway through the delivery.

I was simply saying, "Calm down, calm down, calm down" every few minutes since I didn't know how the hell to deliver a kid. And I was definitely clueless about twins.

I knew I was supposed to be more supportive, but I didn't know how I could be.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the kids were finally out. I was so fucking excited, and I was about to just pick them up and finally drag them back to the row home until I remembered they had to run the tests and all.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

I was sort of worried about the twins.

After a long conversation a while back, we decided to name the twins Bellatrix and Drew. Bellatrix was really quiet and impatient, while Drew was extremely loud and seemed laid-back.

I don't know why, but it concerned me. Either way, they were _mine_. I was so excited. This was the fucking beginning.

The doctor came back and, apparently, the kids are rated from 1-10 on how healthy they were. I was hoping for at least a seven.

Apparently, Drew was a 10 and Bellatrix was a 9. Oh, my God.

"What? What's wrong with Bella?" I asked, obviously concerned. I looked over at Duncan, who was biting his lip nervously.

"Oh, nothing major," the doctor reassured us, "she's just quiet. We've hardly ever seen a child so silent."

I nodded. Maybe it was a trait? I hoped so.


	16. Visit

I love the twins. I love, love, love, _love_ the twins to death. Bella's room was, indeed, bee-themed. We kept the whole paint-splatter theme for Drew.

I was still concerned about Bella. She was quiet, and I was really afraid of some sort of hearing problem. However, every time I talked to her or something she would giggle. I just think she's some sort of a loner. Drew, however, is very energetic. While parents complain of their kids crying, I usually bitch about Drew giggling.

I called my mom about two days after the kids were born.

"Hey, mom," I told her. At this point, she was clueless to the kids being born.

"Oh, hello, hon. How are you?" she asked. After a short pause, she asked, "Isn't your due date soon?"

"Uh…it's passed. The kids are…kind of born."

I could almost hear her jaw drop. "What?"

"Yeah. Two days ago."

She stuttered, "W-well, then I should come down! See the kids, all that jazz!"

"Really? Just out of the blue?"

"Of course; I'll be out to Philly tomorrow!"

I nodded. "Okay. See you tomorrow, Mom."

I hung up my cell phone. I was so shocked about my mom rushing out so soon to Philadelphia. Unfortunately, I was tired as hell from giving birth to the twins. I slept for eleven hours, because Bella kept waking up and crying. I refused to get out of bed, yet Duncan leaping out of the bed and grunting, "I'll get it."

I didn't do anything to acknowledge it, except for murmuring, "Thank you!" back. He then kissed me on the forehead to show he wasn't so mad for making him go take care of the kids.

I expected him _not_ to be so fatherly. But he is, and that amazes me so much.

My mom arrived in Philly looking extremely disheveled. Duncan was out at the university, so I had to go to the airport. The kids were in car seats in the back – it made me feel like such a soccer mom. My mom immediately rushed out the glass doors of the airport and threw her bags in the trunk of the car. She opened the backseat and looked at the kids, who looked back at her with adorable curiosity.

"Oh!...my!...God!" she giggled. "They're adorable!"

She shut the door, and got into the first seat. She saw all of the CDs on the floor – transferred from Duncan's old car into the new one – and asked, "Can you try cleaning this car once in a while?!"

"Yeah, sure," I calmed her down, and asked, "Can you pass me that 'Runaways' CD?"

The Runaways were my favorite rock band from the 70's. As instructed, she dug it out of the pile on the floor and handed it to me. I put it in the CD drive and listened to it.

After a short while, my mom asked, "What are the kids' names?"

When we came up to the traffic light, I pointed towards Bella. "That's Bellatrix," – I then pointed towards Drew – "and that's Drew."

"They're so cute!" my mom exclaimed again, and reached her hand back for Drew. Instead, he grabbed her finger and started giggling.

I looked at her left hand – she wore sparkly nail polish. He must like the shininess…but I didn't want the toxin in the polish in Drew's mouth. "Make sure he doesn't put your finger in your mouth, 'kay?"

When I got home, I put Drew on my lap. My mom wanted to hold Bella, and she did. I texted Duncan, keeping the phone out of Drew's reach (he liked the bright colors on the screen, I saw it as detrimental to his eyes).

"_HEY. When are you getting out of college?_"

"_Four_."

"_Well make it SNAPPY."_

"_WTF?_"

"_Just…get here ASAP._"

I hung up the phone and looked towards my mom. She kept asking questions about the kid, and soon, why I didn't call her earlier.

"I mean, for two whole _freaking_ days, I didn't know that I was a grandma. Why didn't you call me?"

"I was _preoccupied _with the twins. I'm sorry 'bout that."

She shrugged, and simply said, "Whatever. I don't feel like getting mad at you, 'kay?"

I nodded, and looked at Bella. She seemed so irritated with my mom's giddiness and annoying bouncing up-and-down. She didn't look sad, just…indifferent. It was somewhat eerie, like there was almost no emotion in her whatsoever.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and tickled her stomach. She giggled, and I felt a little better.

Duncan soon arrived, and dropped his laptop bag on the coffee table. He sat next to me, and Drew then crawled onto his lap. He looked over at Bellatrix, who still looked somewhat unhappy. In a somewhat concerned tone, he asked, "Is she alright?"

That caught my mom's attention. I shrugged. "She's just really, really hushed."

Duncan shrugged. "Right…"

Mom slept on the sleeper sofa that night. In the master bedroom, Duncan fell straight onto the bed and moaned, "Oh my God…"

"I know. My mom is a nag."

He shrugged. "How long is she staying?"

"Two more days. Stay strong."

After a short pause, he asked, "Is she still engaged to Peter?"

"Yeah. For a _long_ time, too…" I bit my lip.

He looked at me and asked, "Think they could've broke it off?"

"Naw."

He shrugged. "Still. It's been four years."

I sighed, and looked at him. "They'll get married at one point…"

He groaned. "I'll probably have to be in the wedding?"

I shrugged. "We can 'have plans'. And 'sadly' have to skip out."

As much as I loved my mom, we both knew anything that involved Peter didn't appeal to me.

"Hm. What's our excuse?"

"We'll go to Florida."

"You're joking."

"No. The wedding will probably be in one or two years, so we'll book a vacation to Disney."

"Oh. Disney's some big shit."

"Can't be passed."

"But the kids can't go on the coasters."

"We'll bring Alex. So Alex misses, too."

He smiled. "Okay. So we can switch off."

I giddily added, "We're so smart."

"All we have to hope is that they don't reschedule so their wedding is in Florida, too."

"They won't. Believe me. My mom hates rescheduling."

He nodded. I immediately took out a notepad, and wrote the idea down on paper in case I would forget the idea. I put the pad away, and rested easily that night knowing that I just saved our asses from a future disaster.


	17. Unwanted Lessons

**A/N: Okay, back on schedule!**

I woke up, feeling lazy as ever. I checked the twins, and thank God they were still asleep.

I immediately ran downstairs. My mom was simply channel-surfing through the morning talk shows, and I ran towards the kitchen. I was starving to _death_.

My mom called, "What are you making?"

I simply shrugged, "Cereal."

She immediately got up and walked into the kitchen. "Why not _eggs_ or something?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, I can't."

She stared at me like I had four heads. "What?"

"I said that I can't. They're either gross-looking or burned. So I gave up and bought a shitload of cereal and microwavable breakfast sandwiches months ago."

She put her hands on her hips, somewhat annoyed. "Gwen! You're twenty-two years old with_ twins_ and you don't even know how to cook a goddamn egg?!"

"No. The scenario of giving my husband salmonella _or_ burning down the house doesn't exactly excite me."

"Well, you're learning how to use the freaking stove!"

I rolled my eyes and looked in the living room, which was thankfully empty. Duncan would be laughing his ass off if he saw this.

My mom started looking through the fridge. She sighed in annoyance. "Where are your eggs?"

"I don't _need_ eggs," I said. "If I ever _not_ microwave something, I can just buy the shit a block away."

Before she could say something, I added, "And, if I need to learn anything, they have recipes on the Internet!"

She sighed. "Well, if you can't even cook eggs, how can you cook _anything_ for your kids?!"

"Canned peas now and pizza rolls later. Make sense?"

"None!"

I rolled my eyes. "Mom, the internet is a useful invention. That's where I'll get recipes, okay?"

She sighed, crossed her arms, and left the room. "I give up."

I rolled my eyes got the box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch that usually sat in the cupboard. Once I got it ready, I sat on the loveseat in the living room eating the cereal. Soon, I heard crying. I put the bowl on the end table and rushed up the stairs without another word. I grabbed Bella out of her crib and brought her downstairs. I sat her next to me on the loveseat. She had this adorable little patch of dark, chestnut brown hair on her head, and she had these really bright, blue striking eyes.

She was simply watching the bright, changing colors on the TV with these really wide, curious eyes, and I heard Drew soon wake up, too. I rushed up, got Drew, and let my mom hold Drew. I then handed Bella to my mom, and went back up to the bedroom. I sat next to Duncan and smiled. I nudged him. He closed his eyes tighter and buried his face in his pillow.

"Wake up," I asked. He looked at me and sighed, irritated.

"Are the kids awake?"

"Uh, yeah. And my mom tried to give me cooking lessons."

"Mary, mother of _God_, that's hilarious." He snickered.

I thumped him on his head. He sat up and exclaimed, "Shit!"

"It wasn't _funny_!" I snapped. "It was _horrible_!"

He rolled his eyes, and simply asked, "What time is it?"

"Like, nine. Why?"

He immediately jumped out of bed, threw on a T-Shirt and jeans, and exclaimed, "Damn it, I have to be at class by nine-thirty!"

I stared. "Then get your ass over there!"

He nodded, put on shoes (they were mismatched Converse – oh well), kissed me, grabbed his computer bag and rushed out the door. I also heard him exclaim, "See ya!" and dash out the front door.

I walked downstairs. My mom stared at me. "What the hell was that about?"

I looked at her as if the answer was obvious. "College!"

"Oh, right."

Bella was still silent, watching TV – more specifically, the bright colors on the TV. Drew was twiddling with his own fingers – he was really adorable, with these really dark brown eyes and black hair (Duncan's dad's hair was apparently black. And if Drew comes out looking like him, I think I'm just going to go ahead and kill myself). It was cute – Bella needed a big show to entertain her, and Drew only needed his index finger. They were polar opposites. It seems so cute here, but later on, they're going to be bitter adversaries.

My mom left the next day. Duncan was at college _again_, so I had to bring the twins along with me. Bellatrix spent the ride staring endlessly at the smoggy city sky and Drew spent it giggling at Bellatrix. Why? Whenever Drew laughed, Bella simply stared at him wide-eyed.

I then asked, "Have you and Drew set a date?"

"Yes! Finally, yes, we did." She smiled. Oh, God. "We're getting married on New Year's Eve next year."

I nodded. Perfect. We would book a trip to Disney. I mean, the fireworks are rumored to be spectacular there – so N.Y.E. in Orlando is probably going to be a fiery explosion of bountiful color that'll put New York to shame.

Or not. Whichever way, I'm escaping that wedding.

"Hmm," I said, trying my best to look as if I'm not acting. "I'll see if we have plans for New Year's."

She simply grinned, nodded, and looked at her feet, which were hidden under a blanket of CD's. She picked up four, and opened the glove compartment. Then, hilarity ensued – about twelve fell out of _there_ and onto the floor. My mom gave up by stuffing the four CD's in there along with five more from the ground.

We arrived at the airport. She said goodbye by kissing me on the forehead leaving one on the twins, too. I spent the car ride back examining myself in the mirror trying to wipe the lipstick off. When I got to the first red light, I leaned over to look at the twins. Drew was smearing the lipstick all over his face – he didn't know what it could be – and Bella just sat there, looking displeased with her situation.


	18. Escaping to Florida

**A/N: "Word of the Day" is officially my new best friend. That's why I have a lot of **_**awesome**_** words like "hoi polloi". I mean, look it up – it exists. :]**

**And, check out the poll on my page. :)**

**Peace, Love, and Logan Henderson!**

**-Devsy.**

Once home, I wiped the lipstick off of Bellatrix's face. However, it was smeared all over Drew, so I just wiped a damp, warm, yet raffish towel across his face, leaving a light pink streak on the towel. Soon, Duncan came in the door and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Washing my mom's lipstick off the twins." I answered. I walked back in the living room, and Bellatrix was asleep on the couch.

Duncan turned to me and said, "Yeah. Trixie sort of passed out."

Ooh. I like that name for her. However, Trixie seemed sort of ebullient for a seemingly tenebrous girl. Yet Bella was the name of that galumphing bimbo from the _Twilight_ series. I'll just call her by her full name until she chooses her name herself.

We didn't do much for the twin's first birthday the year after. I mean, on December 27, we were going to Disney. We were celebrating the twins' birthday, Duncan's birthday, Christmas, New Year's, and our freedom there. With Alex (yes, he agreed to come with).

Sure, the hoi polloi of this audience may disagree with what I'm doing. But, hey – if your mom was getting married to someone you hate, you would run for the hills.

Also, at this point, I finally got a job. Well, not really a job, it was more like a métier – I was a writer for the _Philadelphia Inquirer_. I got it due to my reality-show fame. They had me start with reviewing television – that was what they thought I "excelled" in. However, once they found out I was actually a good writer and I'd rather just vent my opinions about problems on paper. I was half-expecting them not to allow me to do so. I mean, Philadelphia is one of the busiest and most famous cities in the United States – well, maybe one of the busiest in the world. And I was using its main newspaper to vent my feelings. Well, on the other hand, I had good opinions that put up great arguments, and they're _definitely_ not soporific.

To my liking, they let me do that. The department also let me write a few articles while in Disney World (one about why the penny should be retired, the other about my predictions about Miley Cyrus's future without the Disney Co. behind her). I was on the plane while working on my article – Duncan was next to me, with Drew next to me and Bella with Duncan. Alex was behind us – even though he hated his seat. He was wedged between this senescent, obese woman and this tourist wearing a Hawaiian-style shirt, khakis and _flippie-floppies_ (still not getting tired of that word).

He looked at me, odium clearly in his eyes. I smiled sympathetically.

Bellatrix looked back at Alex. His eyes lit up and she giggled. Bellatrix was less quiet, but she was still taciturn. However, Drew was getting more and more loud. I could hardly even work on my newspaper articles because Drew kept pressing the buttons on my laptop and smearing his fingers on my screen. When I whispered my complaint to Duncan, he shrugged and kept Drew away from the screen. Drew found another distraction and didn't bother me again.

After the plane ride, I called my mom. "Hi, Mom."

"Oh, hi, hon." She sighed.

"I'm so, so sorry I'm missing the wedding."

"Oh, honey, it's alright. So how were the kids on the ride?"

"They didn't even cry. Not even when Drew was separated from the laptop."

"Well, you never cried, either. To tell you the truth, you really didn't do anything."

I nodded and excused myself, "Listen, I got to go. See you."

"Bye-bye."

She hung up, I snickered, and we got the bags from baggage claim. We got this van for the rental car – still had that so-called "new car smell" – and we drove to the house. It was supposed to feel like someone's real home – however, having many notes hung around telling you how to operate the stove and all that flummery didn't feel very much like a real house.

I threw my bag on my bed and put the kids' crib in the room next to ours. Alex stayed across the hall. Out in the back, there was a crystal clear, gargantuan pool. I walked outside and checked it out. It was heated, and it looked _amazing_.

Later that night, Alex went to sleep very early, as did the kids. Duncan and I were out at the pool. We were simply sitting on the ledge, simply having a nice conversation. Soon after, we started kissing. It was one of the most romantic moments since the twins were born. Sort of reminded me of the night when we almost drowned in that pool back in Toronto. I started kissing him back with as much tongue as I could. I then slid back so I was lying on the step. I wasn't underwater – my hair was, but I could breathe just fine.

Soon after that, he got up, dried off, and as I stared at him with a perplexed look on my face, he said, "See you inside," winked, and laughed to himself.

I understood what he was offering, and beamed.

I dried myself off and ran inside to take him up on his offer.


	19. Stumbling

**A/N: Go check out my poll on my profile: "Which twin do you like the best?" :)**

I didn't call my mom during her wedding day. I didn't want to, either.

We walked until my feet might as well fall off. The kiddie rides were such a bore, but the _Haunted Mansion_ was the highlight of the day's park. Well, not _really_ the mansion, but the Jack Skellington kiosk. I really liked that kiosk. The other ones were stuffed with overpriced gimcracks. They usually had a pastiche of princess costumes and Mickey Mouse oven mitts.

Oh, and I almost got into a catfight. That was the highlight of waiting in line for the Splash Mountain (Duncan didn't go on because he didn't want to get drenched).

I was in line, right near the front, when some woman's son fell, so she leaned on the barrier trying to calm him down. Alex and I passed in front of her and all hell broke loose.

"Can you please wait until Yates calms down?" she asked.

I was about to address her kid's stupid name, but I said, "It's a two-hour wait, and I want to simply get on the ride, get off, go to lunch, and go home."

She glared. "Don't be so stubborn."

I rolled my eyes and ignored her. She kept talking about how she had places to go, too, like some French place I forgot the name of.I simply retorted, "Well, we're just a little bon vivant, aren't we?"

I had the last laugh since Alex and I boarded in the back of the last log.

We did, get drenched in water. My hair – coated with water – hung in front of my eyes. I walked up to Duncan, still laughing out loud, when he said, "Bellatrix stood on two feet today."

I stopped laughing and beamed. "She can probably _walk_! Can she stand without help?"

"Yeah, but I won't have her walking in _Disney_."

I nodded. "Okay. We'll teach her how to walk at the rental house and then keep her in the stroller at Disney. Easy."

He nodded, and we walked around for the rest of the day before heading to the _Olive Garden_.

I haven't been to that place in years. I got this flat spaghetti with an _awesome_ tasting white sauce. Duncan got this spaghetti dish with shrimp. I didn't like seafood, so I kept somewhat of a distance. Alex simply ate regular spaghetti with the classic sauce. Bellatrix never ate anything much – she just ate two breadsticks while Drew ate this small plate of spaghetti. After taking a sip of the wine they served me, I turned to Duncan and smiled, "Oh, and I almost got into a catfight in the line to _Splash Mountain_."

He looked at me and snickered. "What happened?"

"Some bitch yelled at me for cutting in line when she _refused to move_."

"Oh, God. What happened?"

Alex smiled and told him, "We fled the scene."

"Why did she like, _not_ move?"

"Her kid smacked his face on the floor. And she wouldn't move."

After a pause, Duncan asked, "Was it all bloody?"

"Just really, really red." I told him. After a brief silence, I said, "I feel hypocritical. I mean, if Drew or Bellatrix fell flat on their face, I'd flip my shit."

Duncan nodded and went back to his food.

We went back home and gave Bellatrix some impromptu walking lessons. She tripped often, and couldn't walk without assistance. We decided to blow it off for the day, put their kids in their cribs and just watch TV.

I called my mom and asked, "How the was the wedding?"

I could hear her smile in her voice. "Wonderfully."

In a more pissed-off tone, she added, "Except for you and Alex not being there."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mom." I sighed. The conversation went on for a long time. The only words (well, not really words) I murmured were "mm-hm" and "uh-huh".

I then hung up, and simply turned to Duncan and groaned. "She can't shut up!"

He smiled. I glanced over at Alex, who shut off his phone innocently. He looked up and said defensively, "I don't want to be sucked into an hour long conversation with my mother."

I nodded and said, "I really regret calling her. I think our phone bill is going to be off the charts…"

"Lovely," Duncan rolled his eyes.

I heard Drew wail, so I got him out of his crib. He lied on the floor watching the movement on the TV for a while until, leaning on the couch, he stood up. Duncan, Alex, and I stared. Duncan nodded and said, "Okay. I guess we'll have to teach them both."

I was asleep that night, my head stuffed inside the stiff pillow. I then felt something repeatedly poke my back. I looked up to see Bella staring at me with her clear blue eyes.

"Oh, hi, Bells!" I said, trying to sound happy through my yawn. Duncan turned and looked at her.

"…Bella climbed out of her crib?" Duncan asked.

Before I could nod, I looked over. She was smiling. "And so she has."

Bella then slid down, her feet touching the ground. She started stumbling towards the door. She fell onto the door, and I sat up watching. I turned on the light, and she reached up and twisted the doorknob open.

"Christ," Duncan murmured, and watched as she galumphed out the door.

I stood up and chased after her. I grabbed her by her waist and put her back into her crib. I ordered her like a dog, "Stay!"

She beamed again and lied back down in her crib. I looked over at Drew. He was fast asleep.

I went back to bed. Four minutes later, Bella was poking me again. Angry, I just plopped her between Duncan and I. Duncan looked at me like, "Seriously?"

"I'd rather sleep here than have her poking my back every five minutes," I told him.

Duncan rolled his eyes, sighed, and we all soon fell asleep.


	20. It's Trixie

Drew was pretty fucking quick at walking. After the Hollywood Studios trip (we had to take stupid turns watching over the one-year-olds while we rode the extreme rides), we taught Drew how to walk. He was running by nightfall.

We kept Bella in her crib from then on. We kept her secure her in her crib, and kept some sparkly thing in there to distract her. Drew didn't dare to climb out of his elevated crib.

Duncan and I were so tired from walking that night, we just locked the door and had sex as some sort of a reward for ourselves. Thankfully, there were no pounds on the door from Bellatrix.

Afterwards, I simply slept next to him, murmuring, "I love you so much". He did nothing but smile.

We didn't really want to go anywhere else in Disney – we just wanted to escape the wedding. So we all headed home a day after New Year's. It wasn't very good – the twins wanted to keep walking. However, once we did get off the shuttle and to the car, we did allow them to run towards the car. They did, and tried desperately to reach the car.

Duncan immediately murmured, "shit," and chased after them so they wouldn't fall. I would usually smile at this, but that meant I was left with the luggage.

I threw it in the car. Duncan approached me and asked, "Need anything?"

I simply dropped all of the bags that _weren't_ in the car on the dirty parking lot. He immediately grabbed them and mumbled, "Oh, _someone's_ a bitch."

I rolled my eyes, got in the car, and waited for him to get in after me.

Bella was quiet the whole time – as expected – and Drew kicked my seat. At the first red light. I put my hand around his feet and kept it still for a moment so he understood _not_ to kick.

To my pleasure, he didn't. When we got to the row home, I opened the door, and Duncan got the luggage instead. Drew immediately hopped out and ran up to the house, stopped and climbing over the steps as if a jungle gym. Bella got out, and calmly stumbled up to the house.

"Aw," I smiled. 'They're like little people."

Duncan looked at me and smiled. "That's because they are."

Once inside, the kids immediately took a seat on the floor and waited for the TV to turn on, as if by magic. I turned the TV on to amuse them, and they surely watched the changing colors with great interest.

The kids grew up as planned until they went to kindergarten. Bellatrix had a great vocabulary – well, it was great compared to other kids. Drew's was perfectly normal and expected. And to think I thought Bella was mute when she was first born.

Bella had long, brown hair and light blue eyes. Her hair was naturally straight, and I liked it that way. She wore a plain red T-Shirt with plain black jeans and plain red High-tops.

Drew had long hair – like full, black, volumized surfer-like hair. He had these really dark, almost emerald-looking irises. Drew wore this light blue shirt, cute little "vintage" jeans and white sneakers.

The _adorable_ little school bus rolled up to the street, and the kids rushed up to the door. After they were gone, I left for work (Duncan had to leave for his damn job at the military at six…it was horrible) as a journalist.

Duncan was back in time for them, and I came back an hour later. When I came back, Drew was hopping off the walls, freaking out about how much he loved kindergarten.

Once I came in, he grabbed fistfuls of my shirt and exclaimed, "Mommy! Mommy! I want to go back to kindergarten!"

"You'll go back," I relaxed him, "tomorrow."

He shook his head, clearly not satisfied. "_NOW!_"

"No, you'll go tomorrow. You'll survive."

He groaned in defeat and walked upstairs. I called after him, "Where are you going, dearie?"

"To make paper airplanes!" he exclaimed. (That was his obsession at the moment.)

Bella was trying to brush her doll's knotted hair when she glanced up at me. She rarely spoke, but when she did, it was hard to here.

"…Bellatrix?" Duncan asked.

"Trixie," Bella corrected. Duncan smirked at me. He persisted calling her Trixie for years, but I always said she wouldn't like the name. Apparently, I was mistaken.

"Well…how was school?"

"It was alright." She turned to both of us, so I didn't ask again.

"Just alright?" I asked. "Like…why aren't you ecstatic about it like Drew?"

"I like it and everyone there. I just don't like everyone _talking_ to me." She sighed, and tried to untangle her doll's rat nest of hair.

"Gosh darn it!" she exclaimed. In frustration, she threw it on the floor and criticized, "This doll's hair is rattier than Madonna's on a bad day."

Duncan laughed. He found her pop culture references hysterical – mostly because it was from her listening to gossip television. "Everyday is a bad day for Madonna, dear."

She sighed and finished, "Everyone's like, 'Oh, how are you?' and I told them I hate talking, and they're like, 'Well, you have to,' so I just stayed quiet for the whole day."

"You should talk a tad more," I bit my lip. "Otherwise, you won't meet any new people. You'll have to hang out with your brother the rest of your life."

Her eyes widened and she dropped her doll. She put it back, went up to Duncan, hugged him, then hugged me, and as she walked up the stairs, agreed, "I'll talk for the rest of the year!"

I smiled. "I love Trixie so much."

He nodded and looked at me. He bit his lip and proposed, "Well, since the kids are gone and all that jazz…"

Smiling, I grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him into the supply closet. I mean, I wasn't about to kiss him _right there_ – that would be totally repulsive, especially if Trixie or Drew walked down.

I locked the door and started kissing him, making sure not to knock down the mops or cleaning supplies.

I coiled my fingers around the spikes on his choker (yes, he still wears it) and unbuckled it, putting on the floor. The leather was so annoying – it felt so coarse and crappy-feeling, so I just tore it off whenever I could.

After we were totally satisfied, Duncan put his choker back on; I fixed my hair (I couldn't see my hair, though, so it was absolute guesswork), and I unlocked the door.

Drew and Trixie were still upstairs. Thank God.


	21. Wolfie

**A/N: Jesus Christ, "Wolfie" is the equivalent of Izzy. Kind of scary, right? O_O**

Once Drew got up for school, he was already sitting at the door holding his backpack. At this time, Trixie stumbled down the stairs. She really wanted to eschew this whole "kindergarten" thing – she really didn't like talking – but I just wouldn't let her.

Trixie simply watched the window wistfully. "Mommy, can I _please_ stay home?"

"No," I shook my head. "Besides, you'll probably meet someone nice."

She started playing with her pigtails – they were sleek, and they fell across her shoulders, so they weren't very preppy. She also wore a black and blue striped sweater, black jeans, and black boots. Drew had on a black V-neck shirt with _tremendously_ dark blue skinny jeans and red sneakers (he was a strong "one small, strong splash of color" believers).

Once the bus strolled by, Drew quickly threw his backpack over his shoulder, ripped open the door and dashed into the bus. Bella walked up to me, hugged me, and strolled outside like she was going to Death Row.

I pat her head and said, "Oh, Trixie. You'll be alright, dear." I said sympathetically.

She nodded and waved, "Bye, bye. I hope so."

The two then boarded the bus, and I got ready for work.

++++++++_Trixie's Perspective_++++++++

Kindergarten was a bore.

After a boring day of learning how to correctly write the letter "a", we finally got to go outside. I was stuck in a perpetual cycle of climbing up a ladder, sliding down the slide, and repeating the process.

After three cycles, someone got behind me. I turned around. Some girl was standing there with short, scruffy black hair and a black dog collar. I think there was even a small leash sticking out of her pocket.

For her outfit, she wore an aqua hoodie and a pink shirt underneath with blue jeans. For shoes, she wore pink Mary Jane shoes with an aqua strap going across.

"Hi," she waved. I sat on the ladder and nodded.

"Hi, I'm Bellatrix." I introduced myself. I then clarified, "Call me Trixie."

"Oh! That's a pretty name!" she beamed. "My name's Tiffany, but I'm _a wolf_. So call me _Wolfie!_"

Oh, it's a game. Probably _Twilight_. Then she laughed, "ROAR!"

I smiled. She seemed nice – a little crazy, but nice. Maybe I needed a splash of non-silence. We simply slid on the slide, played some ridiculous – yet fun – game of "Werewolves Versus Vampires" (a game where one vampire had to attack the werewolf before the werewolf turned the tables and tore you to shreds). Due to lack of experience, the werewolves won.

However, after the playground monitor saw Wolfie tackle me to the ground, she "banned" the game.

"You two could get hurt!" she exclaimed as I brushed the mulch from my jeans, and wiped the dirt from my boots.

"Oh, it's okay!" Wolfie said crossly. "Jeez, she didn't break her arm or twist or ankle! She's still 100% _fine_!"

The monitor crossed her arms, and I just nodded. "I'm alright."

The monitor rolled her eyes and said, "Whatever. One bruise and it's banned."

Wolfie rolled her eyes and muttered, "Pfft, okay."

She turned to me and exclaimed, "Come on! Werewolf time!"

Wolfie then sprinted around the playground, and I shrugged and decided to chase her.

I came home and immediately wrote Wolfie's home phone number on a piece of paper at home. She gave it to me earlier, so I might as well put it in the notebook my mom got me to use later (when I could write better).

I did my homework and showed it to my dad – I had to write the letter "a" like, fifteen times.

A. A. A. A. Then, they shook things up a bit.

a. a. a. a. a. Very creative.

My dad said, "So, you just had to write 'a' fifteen times?"

I shrugged. "Pretty much."

"Nice."

"Thanks."

Drew did okay, too.

Later, my mom had to buy stuff from the mall, and I _begged_ her for a vampire shirt. After a lot of arguments, she finally agreed.

"No Twilight, that franchise is disgusting," she said.

"Yeah. Just a regular vampire shirt."

We ended up getting this _Chronicles of Vladimir Tod_ shirt, which was a little smiley face with fangs. To go with that, I got bright red skinny jeans and a black wristband.

"Aw, God," my mom smiled. "You're so dark."

I smiled. "I've always been silent. And dark."

She shrugged, grinned, and asked, "Why are you so into vampires anyway?"

"I made a _friend_."

"Oh! Who?"

"Wolfie!"

She paused. "Werewolf fanatic?"

I nodded. "Yeah. She's nice. And, it's kind of a cool fad."

She shrugged again, and kept driving. "Never was into that stuff."

I smiled and said, "But I like it."

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

Kill me _now_.

I hated the vampire chaos. Hated, hated, hated it. I promised to myself I'd never let her get into _Twilight_ – and I refuse to. However, to my relief, she agreed that _Twilight_ was simply some fat author who got lucky with a wickedly terrible, dim-witted saga.

Sometimes, Trixie simply amazes me. Drew was pretty fucking amazing, too, but…he was so _normal_. Sometimes I think all the aspects of my personality that make me so unique went into Trixie. Drew was so happy and dazzlingly perfect to be an equal mix between Duncan and I.

However, even when things were depressing and saddening (when my mom and Peter visited last year against all wishes), Drew's personality (oblivious to everything, peppy) made things just a bit brighter.

We came back home with Trixie's new wardrobe. She immediately hung it up with pride. Duncan looked at me and asked, "Vampirism?"

I nodded and looked towards Drew, who was fiddling with a soccer ball. "How's kindergarten?"

"Awesome! At recess, our team _won_." He smiled.

I nodded. "Very, very nice."

He then dragged it outside and said, "I'm going to practice!"

Once they were gone, I looked at Duncan, who was simply sitting on the couch, reading emails. "Oh, God. They're starting to have interests."

I fell back on his chest. "It's so boring nowadays."

He nodded. "I know. Nothing is going on. Not even in the _news_."

"…I may try making something?"

"It's going to suck."

"Thanks for your support."

I took his computer, shut off his email, and looked up recipes.

After a lot of searching, I found one easy-looking recipe for French Onion Soup. I mean, it was just heating up a can of soup and putting cheese on the top. Pfffft.

I ruin _everything_.

You know when you melt cheese, and it seeps _everywhere? _ I lied it on top of the soup and over the ledge, so then it wouldn't collapse towards the bottom. I mean, it was a surefire plan. I put it in the oven and allowed to melt. However, when I got it out, the Swiss was _everywhere._ It even dripped off the cookie sheet and into the oven itself.

I called Duncan in and complained, "Duncan! Duncan!"

"Is the kitchen on fire?"

"It looks like a dairy farm exploded in the oven."

He looked at it and rolled his eyes. "_Seriously_? How much cheese does four fucking bowls of soup _need_?"

I paused. "I wanted it to be cheesy…"

He smacked his forehead and said, "Don't ever cook with cheese again. Never. Ever. Ever."


	22. Business Trip

Oh, no.

I hate the Navy. I hate, hate, hate the U.S. Navy. Duncan worked for them, and not only is it the most boring career I've ever heard of, there are usually business trips. To San Diego, California.

I went to the airport with him (Trixie and Drew were being watched by Amber) so he didn't have to pay for parking. I was so upset in the gate that I just hugged him.

"_Coach boarding now…coach boarding…_" the woman called. I just didn't want to let go.

"Gwens…I got to…go…stop…_let go…_" he kept asking – trying to be as polite as possible – until I just gave up.

With a stern yet somewhat playful glare, I said, "Hey – call me."

He smiled, nodded, and got on.

Once he got on, I sighed, bought a cinnamon pretzel to make me a little happier, and got in the car. How the hell can I handle the twins? I'd have to take off work early and watch the twins.

For a _week_.

++++++++_Drew's Perspective_++++++++

_Papa-, papa-, paparazzi…_

Aunt Amber had good taste in music. I looked over at Trixie, who looked as if she'd rather have a bullet through her head. She wore a white shirt that looked like it had blood stains on it, with a spiked choker she "borrowed" from Dad (even though it was big on her teeny neck, it complemented her whole vampire look). She also wore maroon pants with black high-tops.

She was watching television, and I was listening to Aunt Amber's iPod.

After four songs, Mom came back and waved towards Aunt Amber. "Hi, Amber. Thanks again for watching the kids."

The song conveniently ended, Amber stood up, and waved, "Thanks, no problem."

"So, how are you doing, anyway?"

"I'm just waiting for Calvin to propose already. It's annoying me beyond belief."

"Oh, I'm sure he's just waiting for the right time."

She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "I dunno. I hope you're right."

Aunt Amber then wrapped up her earphones and stuffed her iPod in her pocket. She waved Trixie and I adieu and waved.

I waved back, and decided to watch what Trixie was – _Wizards of Waverly Place_.

"Ugh!" I exclaimed. "You actually _like_ this?"

Trixie laughed as if I was joking. "Of course not! I just like making fun of Alex's stupid looking outfits."

I smiled and watched it with her.

"Red doesn't go with orange, you silly girl!" Trixie giggled.

"She looks like a bottle of mustard," I bit my lip.

She laughed, and I grinned. "So? How's Wolfie?"

"Oh, she's like my best friend!" Trixie smiled.

"That's nice," Mom said from the kitchen. "You need someone outgoing."

"…She's not going anywhere." I looked around, puzzled. Trixie rolled her eyes.

"It means that Trixie needs someone friendly." Mom clarified. At least_ someone_ was being nice today.

"_Thank you_," I said sarcastically. "Nice to know that _some_ people are still classy."

Trixie rolled her eyes again, and kept watching TV.

++++++++_Trixie's Perspective_++++++++

"Ugh, we need someone else to finish up the game."

Wolfie had her arms crossed, biting her lip, thinking hard about who to invite. "I mean, we need a bad vampire, too."

"A bad vampire?" I asked.

"Well, duh!" she smiled, and elucidated, "There are two vampires – one that uses their powers for good! One that lets the bitten live. The other one kills them! Lets them drop dead! They blame it on dogs, or werewolves. Which _really_ makes the wolves hate them!"

"Sounds cool! Let's go find someone!"

We started dashing around to every lonely girl on the playground, until we came up to this girl with blonde, straight hair with a red silky bow in it, with a black heart-shaped rhinestone in the middle. She wore a black t-shirt with a red-and-maroon-striped heart on it with a red plaid skirt, black knee-high socks and black Mary Janes.

"Hello!" Wolfie greeted her with a smile – totally differing from her usual character.

"Hey," she waved. "My name's Cherrie."

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "That's an awesome name!"

"Thank you."

"So, we're playing werewolves and vampires. Do you want to be the bad vampire?"

"Do I have to be the bad vampire?"

"Well, we'll settle for you being the good one." Wolfie shrugged. She then turned to me – the loop where you hook on a leash jangled as she turned around and asked, "Is that okay with you, Trixie?"

I nodded. "Of course."

And so, we tackled and shoved each other onto the grass (it was like a brutal game of football…without the ball). To our surprise, evil reigned over all.

We went inside, only to partake in a tedious lesson about the letter "b".

"Draw one line and a little curve from the lower side of the line…to the end of it." Mrs. Norburn instructed, all while demonstrating it on the chalkboard. "However, if you draw it from the _top_ of the line to the middle, you'll have written a 'p'. That's why we're skipping a few letters so you can learn the difference between 'b' and 'p'."

Drew finished his "b" and showed Mrs. Norburn. "Done!"

She inspected it and bit her lip. "Drew, this is a 'd'…hmm, better give out the 'd' worksheet, too."

She then grabbed double papers than usual and handed them out. Everyone but his friends glared at Drew. Wolfie even snarled, "Thanks for the double homework."

"He's my brother," I told Wolfie. "It's fine, he's stupid sometimes."

Drew glared at me. "Hey!"

"Sorry. You do some pretty crazy stuff."

He sighed, and started his homework along with everyone else.

During class, I finished my first assignment, and brought it home as reference to the "p" sheet.

Later that evening, a few minutes to dinner, I heard my mom exclaim, "Are you kidding me?!"

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

Drew ran to the kitchen and demanded, "What did you blow up now?"

"I tried making soup! _Soup_, for God's sake!" I exclaimed. "It's just heating up a liquid and _eating_ it! _And I screw it up!!_"

"What'd you do?"

I pointed to the soup that was boiling and sizzling around the sides.

That's when I broke. "I'm buying microwavable macaroni! I just _give up_!"

"Be careful not to set the microwave on fire." Drew laughed. He was acting like Duncan. The annoying one.

"No!" I whined. "Maybe I'll try something that doesn't require melted cheese! Like burgers!"

"Actually, it does." He pointed out. "If you want cheeseburgers, you have to put the cheese on the burger then cook it."

I crossed my arms, muttered, "shut _up_," and left.


	23. The Beast Strikes Again!

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++++

"The soup exploded."

I sighed. "Did you forget to take the soup_ out_ of the can?"

"No, I did everything right and it sizzled like it was just going to _explode_."

"Oh, God. Cook something easy."

"I _tried_. I screwed it up."

I looked out the window that overlooked my scenic view of a yacht service on a dirty bay. Every damn day of the week, I wake up early in the morn to a beautiful sound of a foghorn, foreigners speaking quickly with a ridiculous accent, and children crying because they're scared to get on the boat.

It's terror.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

"Okay…" I muttered to myself, carefully making sure the burger didn't burn…or was served raw. It looked good…and I flipped it. To my relief and surprise, the burger itself ended up great.

I lied it on the three open buns with adorable little pickles made as eyes, until I lied the poor thing to rest by lying a piece of lettuce on top.

I put them on the table and called, "Dinner!"

They ran down like a pair of ravage beasts. Drew immediately stopped at the sight of hamburgers and asked, "When did you leave for McDonald's?"

I smiled. "I never left. I made them."

The two stood there, dumbfounded.

"I…I didn't know you used the stove!" Trixie exclaimed gleefully.

"Yeah, I do, sweetie." I said In response.

Trixie took a bite and looked at the food. "It's actually…edible."

The dinner went pleasantly well. I immediately called Duncan afterwards.

In a hushed tone, Duncan said, "Gwen, it's two o'clock here…make it quick!"

"I actually _cooked_ something! And it's _safe_! I feel so accomplished!"

I could hear his sarcastic little claps. "Hooray. You cooked…what?"

"Burgers! I'm so proud!"

"So you spent twenty bucks on something you could've gotten at McDonald's for three."

"That's not the point."

"Right, right, right…congratulations on actually using the stove."

"Thanks, Duncan. Love you."

"To death?"

"To death."

"Better. Love you, too."

"_To death_?" I demanded.

"To death."

"Nice. See ya."

"See you in six days."

I hung up, and put my phone back in my pocket. I can't wait for these six days to be over.

++++++++_Drew's Perspective_++++++++

"Kick it over here!"

I leapt in the direction of the soccer ball – which is probably the stupidest idea I've ever had. The ball smacked me on my side, and there were dark green stains covering me.

"Dang it!!" I hissed, and turned over to reveal a million stains.

The team crowded around me. Even Trixie, Wolfie and that Cherrie girl came up. Trixie leaned in front of my face, the spikes on her collar dangling in front of me.

"Drew, you okay?" she asked.

"My flippin' side hurts!" I complained.

My friend, Vaughn, and Trixie helped me up. Trixie tried to wipe off the stains. She came to no avail, and she laughed, "Mom's going to kill you."

I looked at my plaid shirt and ripped jeans. I shrugged, and pulled my black hair out of my eyes. "Oh well!"

We finished our soccer game, and the girls went on to finish their vampire game (absolutely, ridiculously stupid).

We went inside for a dull lesson on the next four letters in the alphabet, and on opposites.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

I was making stuffing, singing to myself, "I'm cooking food, and nothing's blowing up!" to myself.

That's until I decided to get fancy with it. I flipped the minced onion-and-celery mixture up, hoping I'd catch it as it fell.

To my dismay, it fell on the stovetop and burned in the gas blaze.

I turned off the stove and said to myself, "Poor food."

I grabbed a wooden spoon and pushed the vegetables from the stovetop onto a disposable plate, and…decided to retry making it. It ended up fine.

The kids came in, threw their homework onto the coffee table, and Drew asked, "Why are you cooking dinner so early?"

"Oh, it takes a lot of time to prepa—" I stopped talking once I saw the green shit all over his shirt. "—prepare stuffing."

I looked at his shirt, and his complacent smile. "What in the _world_ happened to your freakin' shirt?"

"I got crushed onto the grass during the game." Drew smiled proudly.

Trying to keep a positive attitude, I asked, "Well…did you win?"

"Not really."

My fake smile faded. I immediately pointed to the stairs and said, "Go upstairs, take your shirt off, put your pajamas on and give the stained shirt to me."

He ran upstairs, and came down a moment later with the shirt.

I ran back upstairs, threw it in the wash, and yelled, "You two don't you _dare_ touch the stove!"

I put Drew's shirt in the wash, hoping so much that the shirt could be saved.

I went back down, finished the stuffing, and rescued Drew's shirt (thank God).

Later that evening, I called Duncan. "Hey, hon."

"Hey. Did you blow up the house yet?" I could hear his smile through the telephone lines.

"Shut up! I'm _fine_ with cooking!"

"Nothing bad happened?"

"…well, I did drop some celery in the fire, but it's all good! It's delicious!"

"Good luck, babe. You'll do fine."

"I hope so."

After a pause, I asked, "Hey, how _is_ California, anyway?"

"Ah, it's beautiful. Waking up every morning to the charming sound of foghorns and foreign tongue really brings out the beauty in America."

I laughed. "Well, listening to the whirr of a washing machine while your _son_ fucks up his clothing is touching, too."

"Oh, God. What'd he do?"

"Got grass stains all over his shirt."

"Damn."

In the distance, I heard a phone ring and some guy's voice come up. "Hey…damn, I got your voicemail…well, you got to get to navy base in like, half an hour."

"Damn," Duncan sighed. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Great," I smiled. "I love you."

"Love you, sweetheart."

I hung up and giggled a bit.

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++

Okay, time to get to the base for the christening of the S.S. Whatever.

I got there right before I would be considered "late". They had my last name on a a nametag, on the chair – "_Rivers_". Ooh, fancy.

I sat down, got the water bottle from underneath my seat, and put it next to me. Instead of ooh-ing and aah-ing like the average American would, I texted Gwen to pass the time. I looked to the seat next to me. The last name looked oddly familiar.

After about twenty exchanged text messages, someone finally sat down.

She had dark skin, brown hair tied into a corporate-friendly up-do, with a business outfit to go with it. It took me about two milliseconds to realize who the fuck it was.

_Courtney_.

Unfortunately, I was taking a swig of water, I finally realized. I almost choked on it until I swallowed it down and sat back.

I checked my phone: "_Duncan, you usually text back in under a second. :) You alright?_"

I texted Gwen back once Courtney got up to converse with some other people: "_OMG THE BEAST IS RIGHT. THERE._"

"_Who?_"

"_THE BEAST! THE BEAST THAT RUINED TDA? THAT ONE!_"

It took a while for her to write back. Once she did, it was not pretty.

"_HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHO THE HELL DID THE SEATING ARRANGEMENTS?! RING HIS NECK, CUT HIS DAMN HEAD OFF AND THROW IT IN A FUCKING RAVINE ALONG WITH THE BODIES OF TRENT AND HEATHER NOOOOOWWWW!!!_"

"_Damn right._"

She sat back down, and I shut my phone off, stuffing it in my pocket.

To my displeasure, Courtney turned to me with a huge smile painted on her face.

"Duncan?" she asked.

I looked back at her and put a bogus smile on my face. "Courtney, is that you?"

I hope she could see I was faking it. She didn't.

"Oh my God, I can't believe it!" she exclaimed. "How are you?"

"Good, good…"

I kept pretending to be interested in whatever she babbled about. She was talking about her petty little boyfriend back home in San Francisco (thank God she lived far away from Philadelphia). After the christening and my conversation from hell, I fled the place and into the car.

I sped away.


	24. Troy and Red Head

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++

I went back to my hotel room, only to be disgusted with the sight of Courtney sipping coffee from one of those traveling disposable cups in the hotel lounge.

I darted away into the elevator.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

"Mom, can I see your cell phone?"

It was Saturday morning, and Trixie approached me while I was drinking a coffee I snuck in after a clandestine trip to Wawa earlier. She wore electric green plaid pajama pants, a hot pink T-Shirt, and she had her dark brown hair tied in a peppy little ponytail.

"Uh, sure," I shrugged, and looked at her. "What do you need it for? Pac-Man? Pressing the buttons randomly?"

"No, I want to call Dad."

That was surprising. I usually put them on the phone with him after I was done with it, or once they got home from school. I smiled, "Why is that?"

"I dunno. I just want to talk."

"Well, its nine in the morning. Why don't we wait for two hours? Dad's asleep."

She nodded, and watched TV along with Drew.

++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++

I walked downstairs, looked outside, and rushed out to the Starbucks on the corner. I need to get my obligatory coffee without running into Courtney. That would make for the most awkward greeting ever. I mean, I used all of my fake friendliness yesterday.

I went in the Starbucks, got this black coffee. I sat down and decided to multitask – watching _Family Guy_ on my iPod, texting practically even on my contacts list, and sipping coffee.

I glanced over at the counter. Of fucking course, Courtney was up there wearing a low cut white t-shirt, black skirt, gray legging and black flats. She ordered a "Caffé Mocha" – sounded fancy as hell.

She sat down at another little table and started scrutinizing the Politics section of the newspaper sitting on the coffee table.

I got up and quietly got up and ran into the basement of the Starbucks – it wasn't for storage, it was only six steps down. It was another room where businesspeople just sat around and drank coffee.

I continued doing what I was doing before, and kept glancing out the doorway, thinking, _Don't come down here, don't come down here…for God's sake, stay the fuck up there…_

Fortunately, she did as I thought. However, I finished my coffee faster than she did. I threw the cup into the trash can outside and kept out of Courtney's radar.

On the way out, I got a call on my cell phone. Gwen.

"Yup?"

To my surprise, instead of Gwen's somewhat raspy voice, an adorable, high-pitched voice overcame the lines. "Dad!"

"Hey, Trixie. What's up?"

"Nothing. I just really, really wanted to talk to you!"

"Oh. How's school and all?"

"It's cool."

"What about Wolf? Wolfie? Wolf…_were_wolf…"

"Wolfie." She corrected. "She's great. Cherrie, too."

"Cherry?" I asked.

"_Cherrie_."

"Oh."

I just talked to her for five more minutes (well, I just said 'uh-huh' as she vented her opinions and feelings).

I hung up the phone, and looked over at a café overlooking the ocean. I was hungry – sure, I just had coffee, but it wasn't filling.

I got this bagel thing. Not much, but it was satiating. That was okay until I heard some girl with an English accent.

"Duncan? Holy fucking _shit_, I haven't seen you for an eternity!"

I think I choked on that bagel for a minute.

Isabelle was standing there – all grown up, her hair still white as snow.

"Holy motherfucking _shit_!" she exclaimed again. "Why am I finding you here today?"

"Business trip," I answered. "You?"

"Just a little retreat." She answered.

After a pause, she asked – hesitating on the last word, "How are you and…Gwyneth?"

"_Gwen_?" I corrected, "She's fine."

"So? Still dating? All ship-shape?" she was clearly trying to sound happy and excited. She was failing.

"Married, kids, everything in the world." I shrugged, and took another bite of the bagel. "Everything is just…fine. Perfect, I guess."

Her smile faded a bit. "Charming."

"Yeah."

She checked her phone. Her eyes widened. "Holy shit, is it really eleven in the morning?"

I nodded. "Apparently."

"I'll check you later."

"Adios."

I went back to my bagel, relieved that she finally left. Unfortunately, this was overall the worst business trip of all time. I looked up at the television. There was this creepy looking ad for this _Alice in Wonderland_ remake. I sighed, left the plate there for the busboy. Trixie will probably want to go see that. I sighed.

++++++++_Trixie's Perspective_++++++++

Wolfie crossed her arms and threw a fit. "We need three guys for duos!"

My face drained of color. "But…nobody likes me. And I don't like anybody, either."

"But we have to!" Cherrie exclaimed. We scanned the yard. We commented on the kids as we scanned them.

There was a group of four boys laughing at their farts and sighed, "Too immature…"

We said stuff like this until we found these two guys laughing casually at the bottom of the slide. We rushed up and asked, "Vampires? Werewolves? Wanna play?"

The one – he had a short, chocolate brown, smart haircut – bit his lip. "Vampires? Like _Twilight_?"

His little pal there – red hair with freckles dotting his face – laughed, "If that's the case then I'm out."

"No, no," Cherrie protested, "it's real vampirism. Like burning and such."

They smiled and nodded. Red-hair laughed, "Like Dracula! _Blah! Blah!_"

"Okay, now you have to choose a ma—" before Wolfie could finish the word "mate", she corrected herself, "choose a partner in order to play."

Red hair immediately grabbed Cherrie and wiggled his eyebrows, "I call blondie!"

Clearly disgruntled with her situation, she hissed, "It's _Cherrie_."

Brown-hair approached me and said, "Means I'm paired with you."

I smiled. I remembered I never caught his name. "My name's Trixie."

"Troy." He said.

We spent the day tackling and pretending to bite and claw each other. Troy and I won – Cherrie and Red-Head were dysfunctional, and Wolfie's team almost won until Troy attacked her from behind.

We spent the rest of the day, almost finishing writing letters. Soon, we'd be focusing on writing full words, and numbers. So I was pretty excited.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

"'_I hate Mom, I hate Dad. Dad hates Mom, Mom hates Dad. It simply wants to make you sad.'_"

My mom sent me a gift for birthday through the mail, and bought me this Kurt Cobain biography, so I read through it the whole day. His life – more like my family life – sort of mirrored mine someway. More like a broken mirror. Lives both shattered by some sort of family split (my bitch-of-a-dad left, his parents divorced), both fighting for some slice of attention. I ignored the terribleness of the situation and focused on my birthday. I read this big, depressing-yet-honest novel until the twins got home – they didn't have to get me anything, but they did anyway. It was a last minute thing, but the two quickly made these cards out of construction paper.

Around dinner, Duncan texted during his conference (shows how dedicated he is to his job), "_Happy birthday._"

I grinned and texted him back, "_Thanks. Call me back later when after your conference, REBEL. :)_"


	25. Sick

**A/N: New Poll! Vote!**

Duncan was coming back today.

I was excited. It was a Saturday – Claire watched the twins as I was at work, and Duncan settled for catching a cab.

I came back to Duncan watching TV. Surprisingly, he didn't have that spiked, leather choker thing on. I looked at him and asked, "Where's that spike-y thing?"

He pointed towards the backyard. I looked outside the window, and Trixie was playing soccer against Drew. She was wearing the choker.

I smiled and turned to Duncan. "Oh my God! That's cute as hell!"

He smiled, yet rolled his eyes. "I can buy another one at _Hot Topic_. Not a big deal."

I smiled. "How long have you had that thing?"

"Uh…" he counted to himself, and replied, "Like, twelve years."

"Holy shit!" I smiled. "That's so damn nice!"

He shrugged. "She wanted it. It was totally beat up. I decided I'd get a new one."

I smiled and asked wryly, "What if your lovable little daughter lost it?"

He paused. "She won't."

I shrugged. I mean, it was totally loose. She could easily loose it or get something caught on it. "You're trusting."

I sat on the other side of Duncan on the couch, and resumed reading the biography. Duncan looked at the book and said, "Vic said that book is bullshit."

Wow. I haven't heard from Vic in years. Ryan and Shaun, on occasion. I talked to Reaper, Pixie and Marilyn very often – I only talked to Michelle once in a while. However, I've definitely been preoccupied with the twins and my career and all.

"Well…it's for good reading." I shrugged. Changing the subject, I asked, "How was San Diego?"

"I think I was set up."

"Why? What happened?"

"Courtney. And Isabelle. I was about to _kill_ myself."

I frowned. "Aw…the only way that could've sucked more is if Trent was there, too…"

"Thank God he fucking wasn't."

Later on in the night, after the twins fell asleep, sex was inevitable. I mean, he was gone for this long week. It seemed almost mandatory.

A couple of years passed – two boring, boring, years – until the twins were in third grade. Wolfie, Cherrie, Trixie and Troy were still really good friends (that red-headed kid moved out of the state). Drew had this cute, impromptu little girlfriend named Patsy. It was absolutely adorable.

++++++++_Trixie's Perspective_++++++++

We quit playing vampires and werewolves a long time ago. Now we focused on playing wall ball (smacking a tennis ball against a wall) and talking about music. We weren't into Disney music, like Selena Gomez "number one hit, pop music" crap (Mom yelled at me for "swearing", but I did it anyway). Going back to our morbid, dark roots, we tended to imagine Miley Cyrus's death. Often.

We all dreamed of dying our hair black or purple or green, and we were jealous of Drew for being born with black hair rather than me.

We spent our recesses sitting against the wall of the school, avoiding the basketballs that strayed over here from the court.

Yet sometimes, it was Drew tossing them over here. He always called me "inactive", and tried to get me to stand up and play with him. I fought back by pounding the ball into his chest, knocking him to the ground.

I had hidden strength.

However, I felt creepy chills. Soon after that, Wolfie and Cherrie were helping me throw up into a trash can outside of the door.

The next day, I was sick. Mom had to head off to work, yet Dad did, too.

"So…where am I going to go?" I asked between coughs.

"I can't bring you to work, hon, I'm sorry…it's cramped," Mom said sympathetically.

She turned to Dad and asked, "Don't you have a big office?"

"It's boring." He said quickly.

"So? Bring a few movies, a book, and she'll be okay."

I nodded. In defeat, he sighed, and agreed to drag me to the office building.

+++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_+++++++++

I was answering emails, making calls, and printing out stuff all while keeping tabs on Trixie. Everyone stopped by and asked if that was my daughter and why she was there. I told them yes, and she was sick, and all that shit.

Trixie spent the first ten minutes looking around and spinning around in the chair. She spent the next thirty minutes quietly reading, then poking around for a bookmark. I gave her a piece of paper and a highlighter for her to draw one, until I had to pick up a piece of paper I printed out.

She followed me, looking around and between coughs, asking, "So you do this _all day_?"

"Pretty much." I nodded.

"It's _this_ quiet? Shouldn't there be like, phones ringing like nuts and water-coolers everywhere?"

I shook my head. "Not necessarily."

After I got the paper, she asked, "Is there like, a snack machine or anything?"

"Why?"

"My throat feels sore. I need like, water or something."

We walked downstairs to the lounge and looked at the huge array of water bottles. Every _brand_ of water ever, every _flavor _of water ever (I didn't even know water had certain flavors) was there.

"Which one?"

"Ooh. Lemon. It's so fancy yet so cheap."

It was humor that didn't deserve a laugh, but some sort of understanding grin.

I got her the lemon water, and she immediately started sipping it. I went back to work and she kept reading. After she finished her book, she put on her portable DVD player and started watching this Beatles movie that Gwen had in her personal amassment.

Halfway through the movie, I could check out. She watched it on the way out as it relied on battery power.

When I brought her home, she asked, "So you just do that everyday? Nothing else at all?"

"Yeah," I shrugged, "nothing really else."

"Well, that's boring. It's unlike you."

I paused. She was eight. And she was _deep_. "…yeah. It is."

And the rest of the ride, she coughed and smirked complacently.

+++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

I was lying on Duncan's chest, totally engrossed in my book. I didn't move very quickly because I wanted to absorb the information like a sponge.

After a silence, Duncan said, "By the way, I'm probably going to quit."

I froze. Why? Why the hell was this happening _now_? "But…it pays. Pretty fucking well."

"It's tedious. It's the same damn thing everyday."

"I know, but…it pays _pretty fucking well._"

"I'd rather work somewhere more exciting and unexpected."

"Like what?"

"I dunno."

"Doesn't sound promising…you can write?"

"I couldn't write shit worth reading in high school. Why would I be able to pull that off now?"

"You can critique stuff. I mean, you're talented at pointing out the stupidity and uselessness in people."

"Yeah."

"You can be one of those pre-audiences. You know, you watch the movie and point out the flaws and shit in it so the rereleased one won't be so terrible."

"They actually have those?"

"Duh. The pre-audience for _E.T. _saved the son-of-a-bitch from NASA killing him."

"…bastards."

The good thing about Duncan was that we both shared a hatred of E.T. – commonly referred to "The Slimy Son of a Bitch Alien from Way-Back-When". I mean, the thing was vomit-inducing. It was slimy and creepy and just…terrifying. People found some sort of liking in E.T. and watched the movie, finding some sort of family comfort in the film. I refused to ever let my kids watch that fucking film – no matter how much they beg or plead. _It's a terror of a film_. I found it more terrifying than _Saw_ or _Sweeney Todd _– I assure you, I had no nightmares or startling reveries about a razor-welding barber, or a clown that looks like someone who'd be in Slipknot.

Yet I've had countless nightmares and frightening images in my head of a greasy-looking alien waddling to kill me in my sleep, or poke me with his creepy, wrinkly finger.

"Don't bring it up. I told you about how that thing ruined my childhood, right?" I asked.

"I know it did. Never told me _how_."

So I explained to him my fear of the goddamned thing, and the story of the _Green Planet _book.

The _Green Planet_ novel is probably the only fan-fiction story to have ever been published. It's a long epic about what happens after E.T. goes back home to his native _Green Planet_. My sixth-grade teacher thought that it would be a good start for our first class novel, because "everyone loves and knows E.T."

Speak for yourself. I refused to read the book. I asked Pixie for notes on it so I didn't have to look at the goddamned book. Apparently it was disgustingly boring – a story about alien botanists and how much he misses Earth. It was a horror.

He ended up laughing. "Oh. My. God. That's _terrible_."

"I still have it. I stole it."

"Why?!"

"It was an act of teenage angst."

"What'd you do?"

I paused. He would _not_ be happy: "My brother took my favorite jeans and ripped them up to decorate a poster for a project, so I took the damn paperback, punched a hole in his wall and stuffed it inside. Sort of like a curse."

He paused for what seemed like a long time. "You're fucking insane."

I shrugged, and he asked, "Is it still in the wall?"

I slowly nodded again. He sighed. "Shit…"

After our little detour, I asked, "So? Are you going to be a critic or not?!"

"…eh. Maybe not."

"What? I mean, you're going to sit around at your job for another forty years and just bitch about it?"

"I went to college for like, five fucking years for it. And I'm not going there for another period of time for another shitty job I know I'll hate, too."

I looked at him with a quizzical expression. He clarified, "What if the movie sucks? I'll have to sit through two hours of absolute bullshit."

I shrugged. "Okay. Whatever floats your boat."

I put the book on the end table, and simply fell asleep.


	26. Irony

**A/N: Attention!! ATTENTION!**

**When "The Real Aftermath" comes to a close, I may have another DxG story that starts from way-back-when (the start of the whole series), and there's going to be this massive DxGxC triangle, so drama ensues throughout the whole thing. Tell me what you think in the reviews section [shit I sound like ShaneDawson xD].**

Trixie and Drew put these permission slips on the table as I was working on an article for the paper (it was a story on America's unhealthy obsession with _The Jersey Shore_…something I've always wanted to express my hatred about).

I glanced up at them as Trixie put a pen on the tabletop. "Can you sign them?"

I got the pen, clicked it, and started signing when Drew announced, "We're watching _E.T._ after the standardized tests or somethin'."

I froze up. "What?"

"Yeah. Everyone's watching it. Usually for like, the third time."

To induce some guilt onto me, Trixie said, "And the kids whose parents _don't_ agree with the movie choice will have to go to another room to do work."

As much as I didn't want to, I gave my consent. I handed them back the slips and said, "Hand them in, I guess…"

Trixie smiled conceitedly and skipped to her backpack to put the slip in there.

Clearly concerned that the kids will be _screaming_ all through the night, I finished up my article quickly ("…this show must be cancelled immediately." Worst ending ever written) and sat on the couch, ordering _Cage the Elephant_ videos on demand and drinking a bottle of water. Afterwards, I just went out to the pizza shop on the corner – I never really went _in_ there, I usually just ordered stuff from the window. It wasn't like a drive-thru…it was more like a walk-thru. It faced the sidewalk, and it was a convenience to hungry, drunken idiots on New Year's Day. All you had to do was walk up, get a slice of pizza and leave.

I never dared go inside – this city's pretty fucking scary. I've always been frightened of possible gangs anywhere I go. It's just a fear that grew on me, probably from watching crime dramas. I taught myself to always be skeptical – now I'm just paranoid.

I went inside – it was totally empty. I got a pie for dinner, maybe because I was feeling lazy as hell.

I remembered we ran out of Coke, so I decided to get two liters of that.

I then brought it home and put it on the table. Just in the nick of time, Duncan was coming up in the drive. He had on these fucking-awesome aviator shades I pressured him to get.

He turned to me and asked, "You didn't make anything?"

"No. I feel like shit."

"Oh, God. What happened?"

"Uh…the kids are apparently watching _E.T._? Like, _irony_, right?"

He merely blinked. "…if they have fucking nightmares, _you're_ dealing with it."

"Yeah. I know. It's totally my fault."

"Wha-?"

"Trixie sent me on a guilt trip."

"Oh..."

"That didn't scare me at all!"

Drew entered the door triumphantly and put his homework on the coffee table. Trixie followed, nodding.

"He…he wasn't creepy?" I asked, hoping to provoke some feeling. "At all?"

Drew shook his head. "Nope."

"I don't see what's so scary about it," Trixie smiled, and started writing down her name on her assignment. "It's a slimy, sweet alien. Big whoop."

"Just you wait." I said to myself.

++++++++_Drew's Perspective_++++++++

I grabbed my book and began reading, thinking of why Mom never let us watch that movie. I shrugged it off, read a few pages, and went to sleep.

A few minutes later, I felt something poke my back. Oh my God. _He's real_.

I yelped, sat up, and armed myself with the closest thing – a pencil I used earlier to finish up my math.

In the darkness, I heard a recognizable voice comment, "Jeez, Drew, I was just wondering if you stole my diary."

Oh. The diary. With my heart still pounding against my ribcage, I grabbed the journal and handed it off to her. She stared at me, offended, and as she stormed out the door, I called after her, "I call best man at you and Troy's wedding."

She slammed the door, rattling a few items my dresser, but I shrugged it off and fell back asleep after about an hour of simply staring out at the window. It was shut – the black blinds totally stopped any light that tried to come in. I didn't know what I was waiting for.

I woke up, looking totally disheveled. My black hair looked absolutely destroyed, and there was slight darkness under my eyes. I woke up early – I didn't get sleep either way. Dad was already out, and Mom was still asleep, so I decided to try coffee. It perks people up pretty well.

I grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured a bit of coffee in. I sipped it – and it was terrible. I imagined _rocks_ tasting like this, but not a drink that every adult American drinks.

What do they put in this? Milk, sugar, all that. I grabbed the milk, put in enough to make the dark coffee a light brown, and added all the sugar I could.

They put in foam, too. All we had was whipped cream, so…might as well try that.

I drank it all, and it tasted like a sugar factory exploded in my mouth. I could hardly taste the coffee anymore – now it was all milk and cream and sugar. It was like an ice cream sundae…without the ice cream.

It tasted somewhat nasty, actually. I ended up pouring the disgusting mixture down the drain. I decided to watch TV until Mom usually came down – there wasn't even anything on. It was all _Family Matters_ reruns from NickNite. I turned that off, and decided to crash on the couch.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

I woke up to the sound of Trixie walking calmly down the stairs. I decided to get up, get dressed so I could head off to work in an hour, and I did my makeup.

I walked downstairs to see Trixie poking a sleeping Drew. His eyes fluttered open, I shooed her away, and I asked, "…Drew? You okay?"

"I got almost no sleep," he groaned. "Came here. Tried coffee—"

"Wait," I stared at him. "You tried _coffee_?"

He nodded. "It's not good."

He then fell right back asleep. "Yeah, you can't go to school."

Trixie stared at me. "He can. Believe me, he can."

I shrugged, and decided to finish up my articles and email them to the editor from my house while Drew slept. Trixie dashed out the house, and as Drew stumbled upstairs, I asked, "How come you didn't get any sleep, anyway?"

"I dunno…I just couldn't fall asleep…" he sighed, and then dropped into his bed. Before I left, he asked, "Can you do me a favor?"

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Can you shut that window to my left?"

I looked at the window. It was wide open. I nodded, shut the blinds, and closed the door. "Get some sleep."

I worked on the newspaper, occasionally calling Duncan while Drew slept.

"Hey, Duncan?"

"Gwen, what's up?"

"Drew didn't get sleep worth shit…"

"Oh, God. Is he home?"

"Yeah. He even tried _coffee_."

To anger me, he started laughing hysterically.

"It's not funny!"

"Sorry, sorry…well, is he okay?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure if he has insomnia or what…"

"Oh, well…are you working on the paper at home?"

I nodded. "Mm-hm."

"Okay. Well, call me later, okay?"

I nodded. "Alright."


	27. Stealing

Trixie came home, and Drew was still asleep. She turned to me and asked, "Sleeping Beauty still upstairs?"

"Yeah, he'll be up any minute…" I sighed. "I wonder why he stayed up like that?"

"My money's on the movie," she said, catching my attention. I turned to see her put Drew's assignment on the table and took hers to the living room floor.

"Really?" I asked.

"Really. Drew's always been the one that never took risks. He was probably afraid something would come for him in the dark."

I thought about it for a moment. That was always my fear with it. The suspicious thing was – her description was fairly accurate. "You didn't scare him to this point, did you?"

"No, no," she said defensively. After a pause, she sighed, "Well, I came to him during the night and asked if he stole my diary…"

After another brief pause, she added, "…and he did. But, he jumped and grabbed a pencil in case I was some murderer or something…or in this instance, an alien."

It all made sense. Professor Trixie then said, "And he's always wanted to be the tough one. He won't admit it if you ask him about it."

An hour passed when Drew walked down the stairs and grabbed a bottle of water out from the fridge. He sat down on the loveseat and turned to me. Pointing out the obvious, he said, "I'm up."

"You okay?" I asked.

He nodded, and asked, "Did Trixie bring back my work?"

"Yup," she answered from her bedroom.

He groaned, and started working on it. I kept working on my articles – editing them myself before they're sent off.

Once I was done, I hit the "Send" button, and started watching television until Duncan got back.

When he came back, I looked at him and said, "Hi. You still thinking about quitting?"

He shrugged. "Yeah…it's boring as hell."

I bit my lip. "I would _say_ work at a tattoo parlor…"

His eyes lit up for a moment, but they dulled down. "Doesn't pay…plus, I can't go back to college. I just _can't_."

I sighed. "Then I don't know what to _do_. I mean, we still have a bit of the million, but it still won't last long…"

I then added, "The business trips are somewhat exciting."

"Yes. Seeing Courtney and acting like she's my best buddy. What a swell vacation."

I sighed, and stood up. "Then I don't know what the fuck to do."

++++++++_Trixie's Perspective_++++++++

I went to school and sat with Troy and Wolfie until the school let us in the doors. Cherrie, unfortunately, was out with pneumonia.

"Hey there, Troy." I smiled. With the risk of Drew telling Troy _everything_ I wrote down previously…

He waved. "Hey."

I turned to Wolfie and said, "Hola, Wolfie."

She grinned. "Hey…God, I miss Cherrie."

I sighed. "I know…I hope she gets better soon."

Wolfie and Troy nodded. He then turned to me and asked, "How about we go play wall ball?"

I nodded. "Sounds good."

We ran to the other side of the school, where the wall didn't have doors or steps _up_ to the doors. However, Drew and his friends, Stone and Raymond, were hanging out there. I stopped the two from proceeding to walk, and said, "Let's…let's play hopscotch…"

"We don't have chalk…"

"We can draw it in blood. I'll cut my wrist, I'll draw it with my blood."

They stared. Troy asked, "Why don't you want to go?"

"_Because_…" I sighed, trying to think of a lie. I soon found one: "My brother and I…are in a fight. And I don't want to go near him, okay? Let's do something else."

They shrugged, and we simply continued our conversation from before.

We also talked a bit about rock music – it was sometimes the highlight of our conversations.

"I never listen to the radio, so I usually take what I can from my parents' car," I smiled. That's the only reason I look forward to car trips – CD stealing. I wondered if Mom or Dad noticed that their vast assortment of music was slowly diminishing.

"Wow," Wolfie laughed. "I usually listen to Green Day, Paramore…the sorts."

"Same with me," Troy nodded.

I had Paramore, nothing else. I only liked four bands immensely – the Beatles, Weezer, Paramore, and Nirvana. Those were the CDs there were a lot of – plus, they were the first four CDs I picked up.

You see, my dad had to go out and pick up these checks from the bank. And I didn't want to go in, since I didn't brush my hair and I was wearing sweatpants – attire that makes me feel incredibly fat. He said, "Uh, okay. I'll just go pick the checks up in like, a minute."

He shut the door, and before closing the windows, he said, "And if any perv comes up to the car, scream your ass off."

I saluted him, he smiled, and left. I then climbed into the front seat, looked at the CDs, and put a handful in the tote bag that always contained my journal and homework (being bored…it was my greatest fear).

I didn't even care which ones I grabbed, "explicit" or not, I felt like being totally disobedient.

I listened to the few – _Blue Album_, _Magical Mystery Tour_ (the most colorful of the discs). Then I listened to _Riot _and _Bleach_. I wasn't much of a fan of _Bleach _– scared the living crap out of me. _Magical Mystery Tour_ should've been named _Hippie (Yet Catchy) Explosion_. It consisted of these weird, psychedelically creepy tunes. Yet I adored each one. I had this weird soft spot for the oddities in the art industry that drifted from the simple guitar-plus-drums-and-bass, or in today's music industry…the stupid computer-generated sounds that I couldn't stand.

The other two…I found no problems with. Brava.

I took one or two CDs – aiming for the same artists – and putting the ones I hated back. I kept the ones I like under a pile of ugly clothes my grandma (cute little GAP outfits that even my mom wants to burn) and Aunt Claire (explosions of pink that even my dad rolls his eyes at).

I'd never touch them anyway.

"Oh, um…I'm into a few bands," I said. Maybe I'd drift away from the usual "OMG Hayley Williams" conversations we always have.

"Tell us," Troy pressured. Wolfie nodded keenly.

"Oh, I like Weezer, Nirvana, The Beatles…if you guys have heard of them," I shrugged.

Wolfie shrugged. "I know the Beatles. Not the other two."

Troy nodded in understanding. My mouth gaped open. "It's good! I'll bring in my cheap little MP3 player and show you."

I uploaded all of my discoveries to the MP3 I got for Christmas. I _try_ to return them as soon as I could, but I usually can't bring myself to do so if the album is just really good.

I'm serious. _Riot_ probably has cobwebs.

++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++

"Aw, crap…"

Duncan was freaking out. We apparently lost our _Blue Album_, and he desperately needed it. We drove to Marilyn's to see her apartment (Trixie oddly tagged along) and on the way back, Duncan needed to listen to Weezer. He usually never did so. But Marilyn listened to some dark shit. Sometimes, you need something cheery and nice to help offset something almost Satanic.

"What are you lookin' for?" Trixie asked, looking at her book.

"A CD," I answered, searching through the glove compartment.

"What one?"

"Uh…the blue one. With the four guys on the cover."

"The ones just standing there?"

"Yeah! Did you see it?"

"I borrowed it."

That caught Duncan's attention. We both thought Trixie had almost no interest in music.

"Wait, what?" he asked.

"Yup. I saw it, looked good, and I borrowed it. Do you mind?"

Usually, he would probably be pretty pissed. He simply relaxed in his seat and said, "Actually, no."

She smiled. "Cool."


	28. Nate

**A/N: I finished the first chapter to the story I'm going to post after this one ends. I might release it soon and once this story is done, I'll start updating, but I dunno.**

Three years later, the twins are no different.

Drew is insanely popular, and Bella is ridiculously quiet. She's still best friends with Cherrie, Troy, and Wolfie. Drew was…almost friends with everyone. Except for Bella (after years, she suddenly persisted to call her Bella, even though it was the name of the girl from Twilight). She didn't find any interest in him – she found him to be somewhat of an attention whore.

And, she still takes CDs from the car floor. Lately, she's been showing interest in Escape the Fate…darker bands, but she kept her interest with Weezer, and holds them as her favorite.

Drew likes pop. It's somewhat disgusting.

They come home pretty much with loads of homework, and they hold it off until after dinner.

Today, when Bella came home, she was staring at her hair, like she was mad with it. She turned to me and said, "Mom, can I dye my hair?"

Her hair was still a chestnut brown. It was straight, and it fell maybe an inch past her shoulders. She also had side-bangs that covered her left eye.

"What color?" I asked. I would allow her to dye her hair as long as it wasn't something ridiculous like pink or sky blue. Plus, this was around the time I started dying mine.

"Black," she smiled, and added, "with red ends."

I nodded. "Sounds nice."

She then pushed it further. "And snakebites!"

Snakebites – two piercings underneath ones lower lip. Nope, won't do that. "Absolutely not."

She groaned, and turned to Duncan who was on the couch (and still employed at the Navy Base). "Dad, when did you get your first piercing?"

Previously not in the conversation, he shrugged, "I dunno. Thirteen?"

Oh, _wonderful_. Two years. Two years until she gets snakebites. I wacked the back of his head as Bella smiled complacently. Upon the hit, Duncan immediately exclaimed, "Shi—twenty-four."

"Too late." I grumbled. Besides, Bella went on Youtube and looked up TDA (oh, no). She knew everything that the cameras caught. Even Trent and The Beast and everything.

++++++++_Bella's Perspective_++++++++

I got my hair dyed! It was all black and pretty and sleek and _lovely_. The next day, I showed off to Cherrie, Wolfie, and Troy.

Troy dyed his hair black with dark purple streaks nowadays. He had snakebites, and…they were just epic. Wolfie still stuck with her short, black hair and dog collar. Cherrie still had her blonde hair, but she wore eye makeup so dark, her eyes stuck out like sore thumbs.

"Holy shit!" Troy grinned. "You dyed your hair!"

I smiled. "Thanks, I know!"

All romantic feelings toward Troy were eliminated a few years ago. However, I looked out at the sidewalk. A guy – around two years older than me – was skateboarding by, his long brown hair in an absolute mess. He wore black skinny jeans, ripped so much and bleached that it looked like someone tried to stuff the attire down into a shredder. A shredder that was apparently at the bottom of Bleach Ocean.

He wore a red plaid shirt, unbuttoned, with a black v-neck underneath. For footwear, he had these electric green, black, and purple Osiris shoes. Big and bulky as hell.

"Oh, who is that striking fellow?" I asked in a mocking British accent.

Wolfie rolled her eyes. "My sister knows him. That's Nate Loughton. He's in eighth grade."

My sixth grade smile dropped. "Oh."

Troy looked at him as he crashed on his skateboard, tripping until he finally regained his balance. He then turned to his skateboard and resumed his ride. "He looks like a douche."

Then, a basketball smacked against the building, landing next to Troy. Drew called over to Troy (who were strangely companions), and motioned him to the game. Troy turned to us, excitement in his eyes.

"Go," Cherrie sighed, and giggled to herself, "go get sweaty with your fellow guy friends."

Troy glared at her and playfully yanked her hair before going to play B-Ball.

Wolfie then turned to me and asked, "So you like Nate."

I laughed. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

I paused, my face progressively getting redder. I soon broke. "Fine! I do! Whatever, I mean, he won't like me in any way!"

"Oh, come on," Cherrie persisted, "You have a whole new look, and you look amazing. No homo. Now, come on. Go chase him!"

We looked back out. Nate passed again, pulled some trick on his skateboard, and proceeded to dawdle into the pizzeria my parents always ordered from.

Not until Cherrie hopped up and sprinted towards the chain-link fence that acted as the confines of the school property. She screamed, "Nate!"

He turned towards Cherrie, baffled. Horrified, I covered my face with my hands. I glanced over at Wolfie, who was totally afraid of what she may say.

She motioned him over and pointed towards me. I casually turned towards Wolfie so I didn't look like a coward. I stared talking to her – mostly "oh my God, I'm dead. I'm dead."

Nate looked back at me, grinned, and the world seemed to be a brighter place.

Cherrie then jogged back, and Nate dashed off, afraid of a teacher coming out to chide him. She told me with an excited smile, "He's into you!"

I smiled. "Really?"

"He likes your hair. He thinks you're cute."

However, my smile dyed down. "He wasn't bullshitting you?"

She laughed like I was insane. "Of course not. He likes your hair."

I smiled. "Awesome."

++++++++_Drew's Perspective_++++++++

Troy came over later – he excelled at school, and I was dropping. I saw him as a companion, a basketball amigo, my sister's best friend (I either ignored that fact or wished it gone), and now a tutor.

We went home, hanging out until about six o'clock when we started snickering when Trixie came down from her room, looking absolutely mystified.

"Aw, your crush is so cute," I laughed.

Mom glared at me. "Don't say it like that."

I looked at her, and she was trying stuffing so she could perfect the art by Thanksgiving. She was quietly whistling to herself, wanting to know who it was.

"It's somebody I just saw strolling through the stre—schoolyard." Trixie caught herself.

"Street!" I exclaimed, and Trixie smacked me, wrecking my hair.

Mom put the stuffing in the oven and exclaimed, "Both of you _stop it_!"

Troy was simply smiling, hoping it would turn into some sort of brother-sister slap fest.

After a few more minutes of waiting, I heard a pan shatter to the floor. She dropped the stuffing on the floor due to the hotness, and since it was rather cheap, it broke and food was all over the floor, and her shoes.

A few minutes of staring – and not wanting to cross the sea of stuffing for a towel – Dad got in, and simply stared with us. He soon broke the silence. "What…the hell…_happened_?"

"Mom dropped dinner on the floor." I sighed.

He simply left, and called, "I'm getting food."


	29. Fake Smiles and Emo Manwhore Guitarists

My editor asked me to go to a concert at the Wachovia Center.

It was apparently a rock band, and he told me, "You'd probably enjoy they're style. They're new, and their fame is rising fast."

The were "The Flaming Stones" – sounded like a name for a drug addict, but I passed the name by – I mean, I liked oddly named bands, too. I wore a black shirt with a tight, light red, long-sleeved shirt underneath with jeans – my editor sent me their logo, and it was some weird little red hand.

"Looks like a bunch of freaks," Duncan sighed.

"Well, I have to do it for the paper," I sighed.

I looked at him, eager if he'll go. "Bad or not, do you wanna go?"

"But what about the twins? Amber's out of town and all…unless we get Alex."

I sighed. "Alex is touring Tokyo."

Duncan rolled his eyes. He _tried_ telling Alex, "Tokyo is for freaks. Hustling freaks with pet robot ostriches."

"How's he doing?" he asked.

"He said it's crazy."

He smirked. "I _told_ that bastard it would be terrible."

That was followed by a sigh. "Okay…sorry I can't go with you, babe."

I shrugged, and I went off to the concert. This weird, new band opened for them, and then the Flaming Stones came out. And I almost fainted when I saw the guitarist.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. _Trent_.

It was Trent. His hair was sleeker, a tad longer, and he wore lots of eyeliner, like he was trying to disguise himself as a raccoon. He wore this torn up shirt with a red one underneath, red jeans with rips all over. He also wore black torn up sneakers. He looked like a twenty-year-old emo boy who appeals to all of the lonely, cutting middle school girls. He didn't look…_thirty_. I felt elderly.

I stood in the audience, absolutely pale. My heart told me to dash out the door of the Wachovia, run home, and sit on the bathroom floor in the fetal position until Duncan would come in and ask, "What the hell are you doing?"

But it could jeopardize my job. I had to review these guys. Surrounding me were all of these kids wearing their shirts and skinny jeans.

I texted Trixie – it was such a faux pas, for both mother and daughter, but I had to.

"_Trix, have you ever heard of the 'Flaming Stones' or whatever?_"

She texted back almost immediately. "_HOW COULD _YOU_ NOT?!!!! THEY'RE THE BEST BAND IN THE WORLDDD!_"

"_Hey, you know that one kid from my show is here, right?_"

"_Yeah, I won't tell Daddy._"

"_Thank you so much, Bells._"

Everything was good – no outrageous acts, no "cutting" songs, and no songs titled "Gwen" after his long lost love.

I applaud this band. And…they were actually _good_. I bought their CD and a band shirt – the one with the logo, not the four members on the front. I even went to the bathroom to swap my plain, black shirt with my new Flaming Stones one.

I left, almost home free, until I heard a recognizable voice. "Gwen? Holy fuckin' _shit_, is that you?"

I turned to see Trent smiling at me. Everyone surrounding us was staring. I smiled in return. "Hi, long time no see."

"Yeah," he smiled, and looked at all of the shocked fans, the girls digging for pens from their purses. He grabbed my hand – the hand I had my wedding ring on, so I hoped he noticed the colossal boulder on my finger - and dragged me backstage.

"Sorry," he laughed. "I just didn't want you to be mauled."

I smiled. "Charming."

"So, what's up with you?" he asked.

I said, "Well…I actually have a nice little family."

"Oh…kids and all?"

"Uh, yeah…twins. Bella and Drew."

"Oh, that's cool."

"So what's up?"

He paused and smiled. "I've got myself a girlfriend."

I put on a fake smile. "Magnificent. What's her name?"

"Actually, it's Heather."

My smile almost dropped. The same girl he "cheated" on me with sixteen years ago…he's _with_.

"Oh, how's it going?" I asked.

"We just got together. Probably won't go far."

I nodded and checked my watch. "Oh! Shit…I got to go…"

"Okay," he nodded, and immediately got out his phone. An iPhone. Fancy.

"What's your number?"

I gave him my cell number, and he texted me so I could put his in my phone.

"Text me, 'kay?"

"Definitely."

I changed his name in my phone to "Jeffrey" – Jeff was the lead singer of the band, I could tell Duncan I met him after the concert.

I gave the Flaming Stones a good review – definitely likely to please Trent.

I came back, fixing my hair in the car, and arrived to the house. Bella, Drew and Duncan surprisingly rented a movie On Demand – something Duncan never did.

He looked at me and asked, "How's the band?"

"Awesome," I said. "I bought their CD." I waved it in front of his face. Not to worry – the cover was this plain telephone on the floor with blood stains on the floor. In cursive writing in the corner, it read, "_The Flaming Stones: Dropped._"

The inside cover, thankfully, didn't have that thing that said "_The Flaming Stones Are: Jeff, Trent, Steven, and Axel_," so Duncan couldn't figure out my ex was the guitarist.

Bella took the CD and asked, "Can I burn this on my computer real quick?"

I smiled and nodded. She beamed, and ran up to her room. Duncan asked, "What kind of music do they do?"

"Alternative, emo…some screamo."

"Cool. Let me see it after Bella's done."

I nodded. "Definitely."

Soon, Bella came back down and handed it to Duncan. "Here."

He took it and put it in the stereo, and that told Drew to leave. He listened to it for a while, and really liked it. Hopefully, he wouldn't get into it so much he'd look up the members' names.

After he finished, he uploaded the songs to iTunes, and later that night, to make up for the internal guilt from talking to Trent again, I decided to have sex with him. I didn't tell Duncan why.


	30. Snakebites

**A/N: Is it me, or is this what Trent will look like in twenty years:**

**./d2/unsecured/media/1578086874/1578086874_61576844001_**

**Ha ha…but I do love Seth Aaron…he's my too-old-for-me-but-kind-of-hot-anyway fashion hero. xD**

"Hey," Trent called while Duncan was (thankfully) out at work picking up his laptop, which he forgot.

"Hey, what's up?" I asked.

"Uh, we're heading off to the plane…we're leaving for New York City."

"Oh. Big place. Sold out?"

I could hear him smile through the phone lines. It disgusted me that I knew how he sounded like when he smiled (if that makes sense). "Fuck yeah!"

Bella looked at me from her phone (she was texting this shady Nate fellow) as I hung up after five more minutes of conversing.

"Who was that?"

I smiled slyly. "The guitarist of _Flaming Stones_."

She looked at me, wheezing for breath. "Is…is he…"

"Yes, he's the guy I met way back when…"

"The one dad hates?"

I giggled a bit. "Yeah."

"Oh…oh…_ooooohh…_" she gasped, like she may pass out. "I am beyond jealous of you!"

I grinned. "I'll see if he has an email or something."

She smiled, and kept texting that Nate guy. Duncan came in with Drew, who decided to go along with him.

"That place is so…quiet." Drew sighed.

I knew why. The entrance looked very old – small, square, one-inch white tiles went across the floor. The walls were blue, and with the assistance of the light, made it look almost underwater. Pipes went across the walls, not cared to be hidden. And as you went deeper in, it got deeper and more frightening. But if you went up the gray carpeted stairs and walked along the wall made of glass bricks – they were rugged, like ice cubes stacked on top of each other – you finally got to the elevator, and those went to the boring cubicles on the upper floors. If you whispered, it echoed, and it was just an eerie feeling. Like someone was watching you – and there was. There was more security protecting the tables near the snack machine than my front door.

He sat down on the couch, shuffling for the remote. I turned to him and asked, "Whatcha doin'?"

I mean, I was kind of watching TV.

"Getting something _loud_ in my head."

Duncan sighed. "If you go in with your iPod, it's not _that_ bad…"

He shrugged and looked at him. "It died this morning."

Duncan shrugged and sat down on the couch next to me. I stuffed my phone into my pocket, trying not to attract any attention from him. Thankfully, I didn't.

"Hell no!"

Duncan was out on business again in Norfolk, Virginia. I practically locked myself onto him, begging him not to go _again_. The last time was terrifying.

"I got to go," he said as he struggled to take his bags out the door. Soon enough, I had to let him go in the car. I waved him goodbye from the door. The headlights snapped on – it was four in the morning, so it was dark as hell – and drove away. I sighed as he finally left the street and disappeared into the dark.

++++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++++

I got to Norfolk and got in the hotel. It had a view of the wet beach and the concrete boardwalk underneath.

"Charming," I said to myself, and threw my suitcases on the floor. I watched half an hour of _Family Guy_ and decided to go up to the hotel lounge to get a coffee form the Starbucks machine while listening to my iPod. I was up there until I turned around to see Courtney watching _Mad Money_ on the plasma TV, sipping her espresso.

I calmly walked away, hopefully not bringing any attention to myself. Of course, some people don't get off so easy. She stood up and said, "Hello, again, stranger."

I pretended that I was absorbed in my music. It was working, until she tapped my shoulder and waved.

I took out my headphones and grinned, just not to seem like the dick I was years ago. "Hey."

"So, how's work for you?"

I nodded. "Uh, it's boring. But I'm keeping it because I have no other alternatives."

"Oh," she nodded. "I'm getting into politics until I rise to the top of the political empire."

"And that's…?"

"President, yes."

I nodded. Inside, I was thinking, _Is she stupid_?

"…Big expectations for you, hm?"

"Very big. Planning my whole life."

I'm not voting for her unless I develop some sort of liking towards prep-fascism. I looked at her and after an awkward silence; I saved myself from further unwanted conversing. I put a lot of emphasis on key terms: "Hey, I got to go…I promised _Gwen_ that I'd call her before eight…I mean, she doesn't want the _kids_ to be up for too long. _Drew_ has a soccer practice (true) and _Bella_ has a piano lesson (bullshit)."

"Oh," Courtney smiled. "How old are they?"

"Uh, about twelve," I fibbed. Lying is somewhat exhilarating.

"Nice," she smiled and checked her watch. "Oh, it's like, seven-fifty…you might want to get up to your hotel room before they get impatient."

I nodded. "See you later."

"See you."

I rushed out, hoping that I'll never "see her later". I hoped I'd never see her again.

++++++++++_Trixie's Perspective_++++++++++

Rob was visiting.

He was Mom's all-time favorite uncle. He was watching while she was out at work. After a few minutes of Drew and I watching TV, and him on his phone, he looked at me and asked, "Heard you want snakebites."

"Badly," I sighed.

He smiled. "I pierced myself a few times. If you want, I can give you the 'bites."

Drew's attention was caught. "Mom's going to be _pissed_."

"Nah, she won't." he smiled. "Your dad got his when he was like…fourteen, last time I remember. You're not that far off. Three years, big whoop."

My eyes were lighting up. "When? When? When?"

"Uh…your mom's out next week, right?"

"Yeah!" I exclaimed, beaming.

"What color?"

I thought about it.

"Well, you know when people get those snakebites, and they're not the traditional silver ones?"

"Yeah?"

Drew looked at me, like, "Don't do it. Don't do it."

"I want like, black ones with white stars. Or the colors inverted. Either way, those are the colors I desperately, desperately want."

"Sure. I can probably get a hold of those."

I grinned. "Awesome!"


	31. Equal

++++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_++++++++++

A week into the trip, I went back up to my hotel room fairly early, only to hear Courtney enter the room next door to me a while later. Now the Navy was just fucking with me. Now we're fucking _hotel buddies_? What's next, having to share a room due to "a full house"? Worst case scenario, but it _could happen_.

I called Gwen. Maybe this would take my mind off of things.

"Hey, Gwen, what's u—"

She cut me off and exclaimed, "Your goddamn daughter got _snakebites_!"

"What…"

"Rob got them for her!"

I paused. She'd look nice with snakebites, actually. "Can you send me a picture?"

"_This is serious_! She got fucking pierced without my permission! And from _Rob_! He shares my damn blood! How could he do that?!"

"Come on. She'd look awesome with 'bites."

"I don't! She's too young for a fucking piercing! She's _eleven_!"

I rolled my eyes and said, "Send me a fucking picture!"

She hung up, and moments later I got the picture on my phone. Bella was against the wall, wearing the choker she "borrowed" six years ago from me, fitting her slightly better. She was smiling impishly, with white snakebites. They had black stars on them. Gwen also added a close-up. They were, in short, great.

I called her back and asked, "So? Not like she didn't get ear gauges with a diameter of six inches."

"What if _that's _the next step?"

"Ask her."

She covered the mouthpiece, and when she came back, she said sheepishly, "…she thinks they're ugly."

"_Exactly_. You have nothing to worry about. She's _fine_."

"But—"

"Don't worry. She just wanted the snakebites, and she got them. Not like she wants anything else on her face."

"Right…"

I laughed to myself and whispered, "…for now."

"What?"

"Nothing." To avoid digging myself a deeper hole, I grabbed the nearest paper and started crinkling it near the mouthpiece. "Oh…looks like we're breaking up, _see you later!_"

I then hung up and put the phone on the dresser.

+++++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++++

I looked back at Bella's piercings. She was looking at herself in the mirror, obviously admiring them. I guess they were fine. Drew looked horrified with them.

"I told her not to," he said defensively, "but she insisted. She had her mind set on them."

"I'm not mad anymore," I persisted, "I…wanted some extravagances as a kid, and I understand hers."

He sighed. I asked him, "Hey, anything you want?"

He grinned. Evening out the game – it's his favorite thing. "Green Hollister hoodie and cologne."

I sighed. Troy, his little sidekick Fredrick, and he always visited the mall. For Hollister. Except for Troy – he visited the Hot Topic next door. "What happened to the green one you got last year? _And_ the cologne?!"

"It's tight now," he said. "And, the cologne was used up a while ago."

"Want me to take you?" I offered.

"Now?"

"Yeah, why not?"

He grinned. I didn't expect him to – bringing your parents to the mall was a faux pas. "Sooner the better."

I left Bella, told her to keep the phone close to her. She passed it off, continuing watching TV. She locked the door behind us, and we dashed off to the mall to go to Hollister.

"God, why the hell is this place so dark?" I asked. "It's darker than Hot Topic."

I felt everybody turn their heads to me simultaneously.

"I don't know," he shrugged, swiping up a bottle of fragrance.

I looked at the price of some ugly scarf on a shelf, with a framed picture of the beach above it. Honestly, why frame a picture of the beach? It looks like something that would be tacked onto a grade-A douchebag's bedroom wall.

The price was thirty bucks. For such an ugly scarf, I could get it at Target for four.

"…so you can't see the price tags?" I guessed.

He picked up his sweatshirt – a size larger than his previous one. He brought it up to the counter, and looked up at me and waited for me to put the money on the counter. I gave the douche with the gel-drenched hair my money. I almost growled, "Take that and buy yourself a shirt," but I chickened out.

He left, carrying his shopping bag like a little bitch carries her Coach purse. He looked up at me and asked, "How about we go to Hot Topic?"

I looked at him, surprised. "Wow, um…sure."

I walked inside, and he looked around, totally disgusted with his surroundings. "This…this is where Troy and Bella shop?"

I nodded, already with a Weezer shirt and a necklace with a key at the end of the chain hanging off my arm. I will tell you now – one will never be too old to stop shopping at Hot Topic.

"…nice?"

I smiled, and while I was waiting for everything to be rung up, Drew glanced at the Plexiglas display of piercings. He walked up to it and casually looked at it, and his eye was caught on the snakebite collection.

"Hey, Christmas is like, in a few weeks, right?"

"Not even Thanksgiving yet."

"Whatever," he sighed, and asked for this pair of snakebites for Bella. He planned early – he didn't like to seem selfish, it was his second greatest fear (topped by "losing popularity").

He already got me this gift card to the record shop – I found it in his drawer. He got the same for Duncan, because while he was giving and all that jazz, he was quite lazy.

He was a spender – but he spent more on himself than others. He spends _everything_. If he finds a dollar, he'll dash right off to the Dollar Tree to spend it on some crappy candy.

We dashed right back, and he carefully put Bella's blood-red snakebites in his drawer – they were expensive, and he didn't want to lose the cash he spent. He also threw his clothes in his closet, and ran right back down like nothing happened.

++++++++++_Duncan's Perspective_+++++++++

Avoid the lounge. Avoid the lobby. Avoid everything outside of the safety of your hotel room at the times of six a.m. and five p.m.

Surefire ways on how to avoid the fucking Beast.


	32. Cubism!

++++++++++_Bella's Perspective_++++++++++

Troy examined my snakebites with great interest. He poked them gently, looking at the stars on them. "Ooh. Your parents finally agreed to get you snakebites! Who pierced them for you?"

"No, they didn't agree," I smiled, and let him poke my piercings a tad more. "And my uncle got them for me."

Cherrie looked at them further and grinned. "_Nice_. Got any more colors?"

Actually, I didn't. White and black were necessary in an outfit. These were probably the only snakebites I'd ever need.

"Um…nope." I shrugged.

Wolfie laughed. "Boring!"

She then edged closer to me and asked, "How does_ Nate_ feel about your new piercings?"

"I sent him a picture. He liked them." I nodded. I then turned towards the pizza shop. "He's skipping today."

"Again?" Troy sighed. He then turned to me and added, "Bella, he's bad. Not even in the criminal way…he's one of those guys who would fuck four different girls in a heartbeat."

I was _offended_. I stared at him, repulsed, and exclaimed, "Son of a bitch! Don't talk about him that way!"

Cherrie laughed at my viciousness, and Wolfie watched with great interest. Troy just looked shocked.

It was a while before we said anything. To the surprise of us all, Troy responded with, "I'm just telling the truth."

"Well, your truth is different than mine. He's deeper than what you think."

"Or he's shallower than he tells yo—"

"Shut the fuck _up_, alright?! You don't know shit about Nate, so don't _talk _shit about him!"

Troy, to my pleasure, shut his mouth. I looked back out at the pizzeria and spotted Nate walking out, guzzling down a bottle of root beer. I hopped up and got up near the chain-link fence to meet him. He rode up to the fence, held the board in his hand and started talking to me.

"Hey, what's up?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Not much. Just skippin'…clearly."

I smiled. He grabbed onto the fence – his nails painted black, he looked _extremely_ goth – and I put my fingers over his.

This is _cute_.

Soon, I heard the doors open and I let his hand go, so I rushed over into the school, waving him goodbye.

++++++++++_Gwen's Perspective_++++++++++

Duncan arrived back here while the kids were at school. Thank _Jesus_.

I heard the doorbell, and Duncan was standing there, looking absolutely relieved that he was out. We dragged the suitcases in, shut the front door, and started making out _immediately_. After it got boring (yup, never thought I'd live to say that), I asked, "So…did Courtney stalk you again?"

"Uh…yeah I think she probably is." He sighed.

"Same hotel and everything?"

"Yup."

"Jesus _fuck_, the government is stupid."

We started kissing him again until I heard a car stroll up to the house. He stopped kissing me and we both looked outside. The mail truck. Okay, nothing to be concerned of.

We kissed and talked for hours. At one point, Duncan asked, "…what do we store in the basement?"

"Leftover shit," I answered in a "of-fucking-course" tone. "Why?"

He leaned back and started texting, possibly to avoid eye contact. It was a tactic I used all the time; he probably picked up on it.

"…can we turn it into like, a lounge or something?"

I looked at him and sighed. "Then where are we going to put all of the useless shit we can't get rid of?"

He shrugged. "There's a shed in the back…"

"It's going to fall apart any minute."

"No, it _won't_. It's fine, it stood up for at least fifty years…"

I shrugged. "Fine."

We started dragging the easy shit – small boxes of pictures, stuff from Bella and Drew's childhood, and possessions alike.

We passed by dragging down their old mattresses for now.

But we left Drew's couch (the one he had in his room, until he demanded a full bed rather than a twin plus a sofa) to be the seating for the soon-to-be-improved basement.

I dragged my foot across the barefoot floor. It was concrete, with a crack going across. "Can we carpet it?"

His eyes lit up. "Orange shag carpet! We'll make it totally hideous just to piss everyone off!"

Fifteen years later, we still never matured. I grinned and grabbed his hands. "YES!"

"With like, dark wood paneling walls!" He exclaimed. "A lava lamp…like, we'll make it totally seventies."

I smiled. "_No._ We shouldn't give it a theme! Like, give it the shag carpet, walls with a _bunch_ of random small triangles so it's all eighties…"

"…we should put in beads in the doorway…like, Hawaiian beads." He smiled. Fucking up our home was probably our newest hobby. "…and we'll have a Hello Kitty carpet. We're _awesomely terrible_."

"Okay, we don't want it to look like a car crash."

"How about we make it something we hate, but everyone else loves?" he proposed.

"_Cubism_!"

"Yes, cubism is stupid as anything. We will go with that."

After a minute of scrutinizing the room, he pointed above the couch and said, "We'll put an ugly cubism painting up there…" – he looked at me and smirked. "You can paint it."

I glared, sighed, and said, "We'll paint the whole place white. With silver lamps, red square lampshades and…ugly multicolored cube sculptures!"

"_And all white furniture!_" he exclaimed.

After he calmed down, he smiled devilishly and said, "Yes…how 'bout I go get the paint tomorrow?"

"Now." I couldn't _wait_ until I saw Drew and Bella's reaction to our hideous basement.

"Okay, okay…" he smiled.

He looked at the wall where the painting was planned to be. "And…you're pretty artistic. Where would you find an ugly cubist painting?"

"One as ugly as you're thinking of?" I mulled it over. He wanted a white one with ugly multicolored squares. "…Wal-Mart."

He smiled, and said, "Okay, see you in…ten."

I waved, and started visualizing our ugly old basement, which was about to be turned into a _disaster_.

"Cubism."

"Yeah."

"_What_?"

Pixie decided to visit, her husband Justin (some guy I met before. He's decent) next to her. So far, the room was painted white with white carpet. We had boxes of IKEA furniture stacked in the corner, with this fancy flat-screen TV against the wall. They looked around and Justin asked, "I thought you guys were all…doom and gloom."

I smiled. "That's the idea! It's going to be so modern it's hideous!"

He sighed. "Oh…well. Have fun with your…basement."

I rolled my eyes, and brought them all over the house on a tour. Justin was critiquing everything. Half the time, I commented harshly, "…_thank_ you, Justin."

I showed him the kids' room, and Justin found them "'ight," even though they were the rooms we spent the most time remodeling.

What a bastard.


	33. Loose Ends

**A/N: Hey…I'm finishing up this story. I dunno, where else can it go? I decided to have some sort of a bittersweet ending. I didn't end it like I wanted it to, but…**

**But I posted a new story entitled "Resort Town"…it's the TDI cast, only in a high school. I hate the stories like it where they're all in school and they're nothing like what they are in the show. So I took it in my own hands. The school is in New Jersey, because I never really went anywhere else. XDDD**

**I was about to name it "Jersey Shore" – I had the idea fluttering around my skull for a while – but I changed my mind. O_o XD**

We finally finished the basement. I let the twins down, and they both stared in horror.

All Bella could say (rather, yell) was, "_Why?!_"

"Because we wanted to piss everyone off and make our basement hideous," I smiled proudly.

Drew stared back. "Why?"

Duncan shrugged. "Because we're immature."

Drew slowly approached the couch and sat down, the cotton cushion trying to swallow him. He turned on the TV, and after a moment, he turned to Duncan and said, "Y'know, Dad. The hideous sculptures and the white totally washes out the TV."

I grinned. He replied, "_Exactly_. That's why it's the basement, and not our lovely living room."

Bella nodded as Drew mulled it over. Afterwards, Drew nodded. "Better."

He then asked, "If we have the living room, they why do we have this?"

Bella answered, "Because our den is cramped."

She then turned to us and said, "Thank_ God_ you did something about it."

That took me by surprise. I didn't know Bella felt that way about the living room. I always saw the living room as fine – once you walk in, ta-da, the charming den lies right in front of you. And it's darkly epic.

I walked upstairs, leaned against the wall, and looked at the living room. It was a tad crowded. Maybe if we took out the coffee table…

"Gwen?" Duncan asked, standing next to me. I was thinking too much to realize.

"Huh? Oh, hi," I waved.

He looked at me, confused. "You…okay?"

I nodded and laughed like he was an idiot. "I'm perfectly fine. Why?"

"You kind of…zoned out."

I laughed again. "Yeah. Perfectly alright."

He faked his smile – he still doubted me.

A couple years later, the twins…they're doing well. That dick Nate broke Bella's heart a year later, but she thankfully found somebody new – Troy. Which for me, was a relief. Troy he was pretty fucking trustworthy. I could see them together for…ages. And Nate? He was an ass. A criminal asshole.

Which sounds vaguely familiar.

Drew went through a revolving door of girlfriends. Right now, he was dating some brunette-haired, plaid-wearing preppy girl named Hailey.

Duncan and I? Still strong. Last year, Duncan suggested having another kid, because "the twins were boring".

It ended with a very heated argument. I, thankfully, got my way. Having more kids was something I'd rather not go through _again_, even though I'm not twenty-four anymore.

And, two years ago, my mom's husband (Peter, remember?) pissed my mom and I off pretty fucking badly. I was sitting in their crappy loft in New York with Alex – he still hated that place. I was innocently sitting there, texting Duncan about the kids and whatnot. Then Peter asked, "Why did you get together with him?"

I shrugged. I really hated telling stories, especially ones about myself. "Well I loved him he loved me…and he had a million dollars. But that's not the reason I love him."

"Hm." He said, looking at his drink. I glared. Maybe it's the criminal record. Maybe he's a dick. Maybe it's both.

"Hm _what_?" I asked.

"Just…hm."

I hated him more than I ever did. Ever. Fuming, I told my mom…she pissed me off even more.

"Well, I can't just go and _divorce_ him if he doesn't like your husband…" she said innocently.

I glared. "Yes. _You fucking can_. He doesn't accept Duncan, I can fucking tell that now."

She looked at me, caught off guard. I then exclaimed, "God-fucking-dammit, why didn't you tell me _twenty damn years ago_?!"

"Because you'd act the way you are now," she pointed out.

I had my hands balled up in fists when I said, "He better learn to fucking accept me and the people I fucking like.

"Well…" she paused for a long moment. I didn't know if she was waiting for me to calm down, or to find the right words. I relaxed – or so she thought. A moment after I "calmed down", she said, "I never talked to him about it…um…maybe he thinks it was…a mistake?"

_Oh. My. God_.

I was offended. Without saying anything, I grabbed a train. I didn't _care_ if I had round-trip plane tickets back for two days. I was _gone_. I just got on, and when I got back home at like, seven, I saw Duncan on the couch, channel-surfing. He looked at me, bewildered.

"I thought you are in New York," he said.

I couldn't bring myself to tell him what happened. "Yeah…I dunno, I felt like coming back home."

"Oh…"

I don't know what's going on with my mom. Or Peter. I never really kept in touch with them ever again (I take deep offense to a lot of things).

However, I did build good rapports – long distance ones – with all my old friends. Even Trent, who was still rocking out as a guitarist…and I still tried to attend at least one concert a year.

I still had my career in journalism. On this particular day, I came back home, and simply fell on Duncan on the couch. I stayed up the previous night, watching God-knows-what (because I don't remember).

"Hey," he said, looking at me.

"I. Fucking. Hate. _Work_." I sighed.

He started kissing my forehead to soothe me. And it worked.

Best mistake _ever_.


End file.
